Bogeyman
by punchdrunkMarvel
Summary: John doesn't believe in monsters. He doesn't believe in imaginary people, superstitions, little goblins or fairies or things that go bump in the night. John doesn't believe in the bogeyman... that is, until he meets Dave Strider, a supernatural dude who has just hijacked his closet and is now demanding candy by the pound, and oh yeah, one more thing... A place to crash. DaveJohn
1. Closet Watch

New houses are full of dark corners and dusty floorboards and creaks and groans. It's easy to let your imagination carry you away into a dreaded but often misunderstood world of long, spooky fingers and spectral whispers and things that go bump in the night. Is that how Dad phrased it?

Yeah, I know. I know monsters aren't real. But can you just look in my closet? Please? I'm afraid to open the door. That's how I responded, right?

Go to bed, John. Goodnight, I love you, son.

Love you too, Dad.

I'm going to be a man one day. I'm going to lift cars over my head and drop pianos out windows for the sole purpose of being comedically golden, because honestly, who drops an expensive instrument off the fifty billionth story of an office building and injures six people, for any other reason than a couple of short lived guffaws? Even though I'm only fifteen, I'm still supposed to be a man of Herculean proportions some day... why not start now?

Is that really all there is to it? Shaving and bench-pressing ten ton safes and carefully trimming your handlebar mustache? Sometimes, I really wish I was a girl. Jane had it easy. Daddy's little warrior princess. I bet _she _isn't afraid of her closet.

So now I'm under these old sheets that aren't even mine, because _my _sheets are still in a box somewhere, in the back of a moving van about fifty miles away. Just like my posters, and my computer, and my DVD's and video games and anything that wasn't my glasses, pajamas, two sets of clothes and a toothbrush. I'm under these sheets that smell like dust with just my head sticking out, and I'm just staring at this door, and every B-movie about ghosts and monsters hiding under a kid's bed is coming back to haunt me.

No, I'm not afraid of these things. I'm a wimp, not a toddler. But right now, the smell of these weird blankets and the sound of Dad's footsteps downstairs and our new, cold-as-Alaska, weekday matinee-empty colonial house in Yakima are all doing nothing to comfort me. I mean, I'm trying to sleep on a makeshift bed two sleeping bags thick spread on top an old box spring that someone probably died on, lying under some off-white sheet Dad just found in the creepy old attic. Put yourself in my Ghostbusters PJ's for a minute and tell me how you think you'd feel.

Now, back to my closet. Like I said before, I know monsters aren't real. I know Howie Mandell isn't really a spotted blue prankster with horns and a leather jacket. I know a dead relative isn't going to break out of his sarcophagus and come shambling after me like in _Night of the Living Dead. _Seriously, when you spend as much time as I do learning pointless movie trivia to make your friends think you're an even bigger dork, you kind of learn why these things will never happen in real life. I don't have to be smart to know what makes these things impossible.

But that door. It's open, not enough for even a dusty brown moth to squeeze through, but it's still open, and I can see it with my glasses still on and the intervals when the clouds break and the moonlight comes in. I want to shut it so bad that my legs tingle under the starchy sheet like they're begging me to do something about it. And with my heart pounding, I sit up and stare some more at the little black line between the jamb and the door and ask myself W.W.C.D. - what would Cage do?

He would probably break out the moves and go Chuck Norris on that closet's ass, but Nic Cage is just an actor, so it would not be without cameras surrounding him. Still, he's probably not afraid of a dumb closet. Too bad I'm really nothing like him or any of his characters, because I'm just sitting up on this antique, dead lady-box spring that's poking my butt despite two layers of flannel, just staring at a tiny little line. And it's so black and abysmal, and way scary, scarier than all the Japanese monster movies I've ever seen. So it's about time I decide that enough is enough. I grab my sleeping bag and do what any sensible man-in-training would...

I go sleep in the bathtub.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

When I wake up the next day with Dad standing over me, telling me that the movers are here, it feels a little like Christmas, and I decide that maybe Yakima won't be so bad. Well, let me tell you, after you spend four nearly-sleepless hours freezing your butt off in a bathtub, it's pretty easy to say that _anything _won't be so bad. It doesn't take long for me to wriggle out of my sleeping bag and follow him down the creaky, dusty stairs, feeling wide awake in a cold, sleep-deprived kind of way.

And even though now I'm sitting at the new, ugly pine table and listening to Dad sing Perry Como while he makes pancakes, there are hairy moving men hauling my bed upstairs. If it's Christmas, then I guess they're the elves. Big, burly elves with chest hair and beer guts that make the thought of Santa Claus suddenly horrifying. I hope that's the last time I ever have to sleep in a bathtub, because it really screwed with my head.

"Dad, there's a monster in my closet," I say, maybe not quite so earnestly as he sits down next to me and gives me breakfast.

"What kind of monster?"

"Uh... maybe like, a zombie or something?"

"It's plausible. It would make perfect sense for the man who sold the house to lock a zombie in the closet and then hightail it out of here."

That's Dad for you. He never really takes anything I say seriously, whether it's about school or birthday cake or monsters in my closet. "Why don't you let him out? Halloween's coming up, and we have a real live zombie at our house? We'll be the envy of the neighborhood. It's priceless."

"Yeah, ok, Dad," I mumble, standing up from the table. "Can I go for a walk?"

"Sure, John. Just don't get lost."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Even in your new house, avoiding your closet and your bedroom altogether is not as easy as it seems, trust me. Before I left I had to go up there to get dressed. And then when I came back, Dad wants me to put all my stuff away. I try not to look at the closet, but it's too hard, and all my jackets and pairs of shoes are kind of just heaped on the floor because I refuse to go in there.

And I'm telling you, I _swear _it, I'm not imagining, something is moving that door. Just last night it was open not more than half an inch or a _centimeter_, and the first time I went back in my room, it was open a space enough for me to stick my hand in. Second time, a tad more. And then the third time, it's completely closed, so don't blame some draft. I sit as close to it as I dare, listen hard, try to hear sounds coming from the inside. I even lie down and press my ear to the cold floor to try to hear a vibration or a footstep, but all I hear is voices coming from downstairs. Dad's voice and Jane's voice.

It's about time she got here, so I get up from the floor and find the stairs, which I keep forgetting about because they're not in the same place as they were in my old house. By the time I get in the kitchen, Dad's telling Jane about the monster in my closet.

"Did you know we have a zombie, Janey?" he's telling her. "A real live zombie."

"That's nice, Dad," Jane replies, and she's eating caramels. I hug her so I can snake a couple of them. She doesn't even respond to me crowding her personal space – she just starts talking about the traffic and the weather and stuff.

In my personal experience, by the time you're old enough to have your drivers license, you get _really _boring. I'm already dreading my sixteenth birthday in the spring, and instead of having a party, I plan on spending the whole day in mourning. "Jane, my room's bigger than yours," I tell her as I sit on the ugly pine and unwrap one of the candies.

"Good," she finally answers with a smirk, "because your butt's bigger than mine."

"Is not," I answer halfheartedly because I'm looking out the window. It's supposed to be fall but the rain knocked most of the leaves out of the trees, and now it looks like winter instead.

Jane says she wants to take a shower and disappears for a while, and I am just sitting on the table and looking at Dad, waiting for him to tell me to get down. He's not telling me though, because he forgot how to be a strict father for a minute and instead of telling me, he's looking at his PDA. "I have to do some work, buddy," he tells me and then walks away to his laptop.

So I'm alone now in the kitchen and staring out the window. Even though there's a monster in my closet, I'll take my chances. Anything is better than being alone in my own house, after all.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Upstairs, in my room, I've managed to kill most of the day playing computer games. And the closet door creaks every so often– the first couple times I saw it move, I ran out. Then I got used to it. I stayed put in my chair and watched it to see what would happen. It moves a few inches or just a centimeter or closes or opens, then it just stops and stays still.

Now, you sit here and try to tell me that a closet does that on its own. You, reader of the objective point of view, tell me, does _your _closet ever open and close by itself, several times in an hour, when you're sitting right there playing computer games? If it does, let me refer you to a good paranormal investigator. When the sun started to set, I left my room. I knew Dad would ignore me if I told him about the closet and Jane would think I was pranking her, so what else could I do during dinner besides sit there quietly and eat my food?

All that was on my mind of course was that dumb closet, with a dumb zombie or a dumb ghost waiting for me to open the door so I'll get eaten alive or slimed, respectively. And Dad and Jane will just say I'm playing a practical joke on them, I've got a bucket propped up on the door frame ready to drench them in chocolate milk. If that doesn't get them, Dad and Jane will say I have an overactive imagination, I've been watching too many old movies.

Later that night, after we all sit down and watch some Inspector Gadgety detective movie apropos Jane's request, they'll say goodnight John, go to bed. I'll explain to them about the closet door being open and shut and open again, and they'll say love you, John, goodnight. Wild imagination, too many movies. Maybe I'll try to tell myself the same thing as I'm finally at the top of the stairs and nearing the door to my bedroom.

Yeah, I wish.

Because right at that moment, when I open the door and turn on my lights, there's a six foot long, white-haired, sunglasses-wearing man in a red suit lying on my sheets, my _real _sheets, and eating the caramel I left on my bed.

And without even looking at me, he says, "Sup. I'm the Bogeyman."


	2. Unafraid

**a/n: **hey everyone! just a quick announcement informing you that updates will usually **not **be this swift. i didn't work all week and basically had this chapter done since the beginning. i would love nothing more than to promise you all a new chapter everyday, but i can't. i was particularly happy with the reception of the first chapter and wanted to thank everyone, you guys who followed, and reviewers, since most of my reviewers were actually anons and i couldn't message back. all right, i've been talking long enough. enjoy.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

I don't believe in fairytales. I'm fifteen years old, not stupid. And I know what the Bogeyman looks like. But like I said, there's a six foot tall man I don't know lying on my bed _saying_ he's the Bogeyman, and I'm too scared to even scream.

"Fuck, I'm gonna die," is all I can think to say. Yes, I know zombies and ghosts aren't real, but you know what are? Murderers and serial rapists and baddies that hide in your closet and wait until your whole family's asleep to strangle you with a pair of pantyhose or thong underwear.

"Dude, whatever you heard about me," he begins in southern drawl, licking his sticky, chalkboard chalk white fingers and unwrapping another piece of candy. "It's probably not true.

But those words don't make sense, and neither does anything, so I just stand there and try not to pee myself as I ask, "What are you gonna do to me?"

He snorts. "Wow, what a question. What am I gonna do to a scrawny and gay nerd with a boner for a totally supernatural dude sucking his fingers? A whole lot'a nothing."

My face is burning, and I'm too slack-jawed to talk, but I _don't _have a boner.

"Sit down, I'll try to clue you in, retard," he says lazily, but I don't do it. I just keep staring at him. That's when I feel my body moving on its own, and the next thing, I'm sitting painfully on the hard floor. "You're lookin' a little pale there, dude. Try using your hands." My arms reach out slightly behind me until my palms touch the floor, bracing me from falling over backwards.

"Ah, stop!" I cry helplessly. I'm a little freaked out, yes, you try to stay calm when some monster is manipulating your body against your will, and _yes, _after this, I will believe in the monster thing.

"Sorry. I try not to do that to humans. They tend to get a li'l hot under the collar."

"What do you want from me?"

"Great, you're coming along just fine. Already submissive. 'Make a perfect human slave for my condescending and slightly perverted underworld business."

I know I'm gawking and blushing, but there's no way I can control either of those things. I can't even stop shaking. I know how stupid my face looks, because I can't look away from the mirrored surface of his sunglasses. There's no possible way to see his eyes through them. He's a lot taller than me and his skin is so starkly egg shell pale that it's almost as white as his hair. He has faint little spots all over his face like freckles, and his lips have barely any pink in them, not that I usually notice guys' lips.

"Just kiddin'," he continues, extending a leg and nudging me with his toe. He's wearing all black sneakers, which is a weird way to accessorize a red suit. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

"Y-you're the Bogeyman?" I manage to blurt out. He tosses his head slightly, smirks caustically, and gets up from the bed to approach me on the floor.

"No, don't be silly," he begins in a soft voice, kneeling down so he's right in my face. I want to move back as he cups my chin, want to scuttle away to anywhere but right there, but my body feels frozen again and I know it's because of him... Or maybe it's because of me this time. His grip is icy cold and his teeth are straight and white and weirdly perfect. He still smells like caramel when he breathes in my face. "There's no such thing as the Bogeyman."

I see him open his mouth, flick out his pink tongue, lean in closer to my neck. I don't want him licking me, would you? His saliva might be poison or something, and he probably sucks blood like a vampire. I try to move back or dodge him or anything, but I am still frozen to this spot. "Ok, I get it, you're the Bogeyman, I believe you!" I shout in his ear, not that he seems affected. He's still tasting my neck in a creepily sexy (wait no. _Not sexy._) sort of way. I am so _not _turned on right now, so please take a moment to banish that thought ENTIRELY from your head.

He slowly pulls back, looks me in the eye (well, I think he is) and asks me my name. He smirks, cants his head, and asks, "What's your name, dork?"

"John Egbert," I answer. "Shouldn't you know that? You live in my closet."

"I don't _live _in your closet," he answers, a bit defensively, I should note. "I can be in any closet I want to, anywhere in the world, when_ever _I want to. And I am so mad popular in all these exclusive closets that I need my own two fucking bouncers in skin tight T shirts and waxed heads following me everywhere I go. You don't even know how it is to get swarmed with this many groupies all beggin' if they can kiss my class ring or see my tattoo. Shit is stressful, man."

"Sounds glamorous," I respond sarcastically, rolling my eyes. I know he sees this, because he's still inches from my face, but he decides not to acknowledge it.

"Yep. But that's the price you pay for fame and fortune, dude. That's just how it is when you are _Dave_ fucking _Strider_."

"I thought you were the Bogeyman," I point out wryly, to which he scoffs.

"Yeah, but I have a _name_. How 'bout the governor? You think his name's just 'Governor' or is he Arnold Schwarzenegger?"

"Ok, good point. But you know, we're not in California, and he's not really a governor anymore..."

"Whatever. Damn, Egbert dork, yack my ear off, why don't you? Gimme the skinny on these human facts. Just let me have it."

"...So now that we've met, you'll tell me what you want, right?"

I meet his reflective gaze bravely, but I'm terrified. I beg myself to wake up, but somehow, I get the sinking feeling that all of this is real. Usually when you realize you're dreaming, you wake up. I'm not waking up. I'm still staring at him, and he's still in my room, in his red suit and black sneakers and white hairdo. His face isn't changing at all, no smirk or frown or anything but just his puffy lips making a line. Suddenly, his hand shoots out, and I flinch, but he stops an inch before he slaps me in the ear.

"Just testing," he murmurs, slowly lowering his hand.

"...Testing what?" I mumble back, feeling strangely vindicated in his decision not to hit me.

He snorts. "Your reflexes, what else?" he asks sarcastically, but his reasoning isn't as clear to me as it obviously is to him. "Just to see what you'd do. To see if you were... well, you know."

"What?"

His lips move to whisper a solitary, one syllable word, but at that moment, I hear footsteps trundling up the stairs, stopping every so often as if to listen to something. And then I hear my Dad's voice call out.

"John?" he asks. "John, who are you talking to?"

Dave Strider, the Bogeyman, turns his head at me, and I see him smirk. After that he's gone. There's no crappy ninja smoke or anything, he just sort of disappeared like a bad special FX in an episode of _Sabrina the Teenage Witch. _Then my dad appears in the doorway in his slippers and his bathrobe, his pipe halfway to his lips like he got stuck that way at the bottom of the steps, or whenever he first started hearing me. Talking, presumably, to myself.

"I'm talking to _him,_" I blurt out, pointing daftly to my closet, "you know. The Bogeyman, the zombie."

"Champ," he begins slowly, carefully, fingering his five o' clock shadow in an irritated way. "Do you want to see a psychiatrist?"

"No, Dad."

"Then we're not going to talk about the monster anymore. We're not going to talk _to _the monster. You understand, right son?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Good. Sleep tight, John."

"G'night."

I sit as still as a painting until he leaves, and not like one of those talking ones in a _Harry Potter _movie. I don't breathe until I hear his own door close, the shuffling of his feet fade into silence. Then I whip my head around and glare at the presence who has finally decided to show up behind me, his thick eyebrows raised high above his mirrored shades. "Was that... a dad?" he asks, and I can't figure out if he's being ironic or serious.

"You need to leave," I snap, snatching at him, but he slips through my fingers like smoke and reappears on my bed, eating caramel again.

"Johnny boy, I thought we were going to strike up a deal."

"You heard him!" I hiss, standing up. "I'm not going to see a shrink, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, enough of your petty problems." He has licked the candy until it's golden sludge, dripping off his fingers and making a mess of my bed. "Can we talk about mine?"

"What could _you _possibly want from _me?_" I don't want to shout with my dad in the next room, but I am just exasperated by him.

"First of all..." he begins, pausing while he continues to eat, unwrapping every caramel I had until he has eaten every one of them. "Candy."

I look at him, wondering what this guy's problem is, when he is going to burst into bouts of hysterical laughter over the fact that he is trolling me so hard. But no, he's still just waiting expectantly for my reply. He is poker face with a capital P. When he doesn't get one, he just moves on without missing a beat. It's like he has no regards or concerns for my opinion, and as rude as it is, it's actually making him seem really cool.

"And a place to stay." He is now kicked back on my bed, arms folded behind his neck, sunglasses reflecting the overhead light and staying perfectly impenetrable.

"That will _not _work. Absolutely not. No, no, no!"

"Cool it, dude. Daddy won't know a thing, I swear."

His head is now angled towards me, platinum blond hair tumbling onto my pillow. This is the first time I feel like he is really looking at me, but of course, that's probably bullshit because I can't tell what he's looking at anyway. I'm just considering things, how I'm not going to wake up, how this... person? Monster? Demon? In my bed has some kind of otherworldly mind control powers or something. I wish that things would just go back to the way they were, that I was back in Maple Valley, and I think how stupid I was to hope I got to live in a haunted house someday. I wish Dave Strider, the Bogeyman, was just a bad dream. I wish he was _gone_.

I try to still my shaking hands and take a deep breath. "What if I say no?"

For a moment, he still stays unmoving on my bed. He doesn't speak, doesn't even seem to breathe. Under all the ostentatious red fabric, I can barely see his chest rising and falling, and for a second, I think he's fallen asleep. In the next one, he's behind me, grasping my arms in a vice grip and holding me up so I'm barely able to touch the ground on my tiptoes. I feel his cold, sticky lips on my neck as he whispers the words, "You won't."

He lets go before it has time to hurt and lets me fall on the floor loudly, standing in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest. I wasn't about to argue any more despite the fact that I wanted him away from me, so I just gave him my most resentful glare as he looked down at me, seeming disappointed.

"You're not like other humans..."

"What do you mean?"

"...Lemme ask you something."

"Ok, I guess so."

"Why aren't you scared of me?"

He's taken his glasses off. His eyes are preternaturally vermillion and more brilliant than any star I've ever seen in my life. I feel my shoulders go up and down as I just stare into them, sort of mesmerized by the color. "I'm just not."


	3. Reality or Dreams

I'm not a writer by any means. I'm not even one of those guys who likes to talk just to hear the sound of his own voice. But right now, I'm sitting at my computer at five in the morning with a monster asleep in my bed, typing every detail I can think of that may have caused this strange event to clairvoyants and paranormal investigators on this highbrow supernatural forum. I guess it's mostly about ghosts, which I would've been much more prepared to deal with. I glance back at Dave Strider, his form sprawled out lazily over the covers, suit and shoes and sunglasses and everything still on. I wonder if _anyone_ could be prepared for this.

I hit the post button and stand up, my back sore from having typed that for the last half hour. I don't have the mental substance left to wonder if anyone's going to believe it, or if this obscure, esoteric website is just a bunch of roleplaying baloney. After all, the Bogeyman has just decided that my bedroom is going to be his vacation home. What do I have to lose?

I walk over to my bed and stare down at his face. He is asleep so peacefully that he definitely looks human, even kind of nice. Those freckles give him an innocent kind of look, especially when he's fast asleep. For a minute, I feel sorry for him. Even though he's in my bed and I've barely slept in the past few days, I think he's uncomfortable in all his clothes. I reach down to where his feet are and slowly begin to untie his shoes, careful not to wake him, but he doesn't even make a sound. I pull them off and set them down on the floor quietly, then work my way up to his jacket.

It's soft and cold to touch, kind of like silk but different, like with more substance. It's hard to describe, because I've never touched anything like it before. I almost feel bad doing it, like I'll get it dirty or something. My hands are sweating like crazy after all. I undo the buttons and spend five minutes pulling it inch by inch from his body gradually so he doesn't notice. Have you ever played Operation? It's sort of like that. I drape it on the back of my desk chair, then untie his tie slowly. I toss that on the chair too. I don't really want to expose any skin, and he looks comfortable enough now, so I turn to drag my sleeping bag out on the floor.

I can probably put it away, since the thing I was afraid of occupies my bed now. I'm unfolding it when I suddenly think of something – Dave's sunglasses are still on. He's still sleeping like a baby, so I reach down and pluck them from his face, slowly pulling them off and folding them. Once they're gone I can see his red eyes, wide and bright, even in the dark. I don't even have time to think _shit I woke him up _before I'm on the floor, coughing, intense pain radiating from the center of my chest.

It's what I imagine it feels like to be shot, only there's this glowing red light right there, intense and surreal and cutting through the darkness of my room, and I'm afraid he took my soul or something. It hurts so badly that I can't get up, and I can't stop coughing either.

"Fuck," I hear him exclaim, and then he's on the floor, holding my trunk up. My head is in the crook of his elbow and his other hand is on my chest where the light is. I focus on it, wondering what it is, feel his fingers digging into my t-shirt. My teeth start to chatter and my lips feel cold, but that place where his hand is still burns intensely.

I try to ask him if I'll die, or scream, or cry, or anything, but I can't move. I can't move any part of me. He's gripping me harder now, and I realize I've stopped breathing. I watch as the light starts to glow darker, diminishing. It still hurts like hell, but not as bad. When the light's completely faded away, I hear him sigh. "Don't fucking sneak up on me while I'm asleep, ok? I almost killed you."

I've suddenly regained my ability to breathe, so I gasp and instantly start coughing after that. He sort of watches me patiently until I get the rhythm down again, in, out, in out. I try to think of a reason why he would save my life, but my brain is fumbling already from whatever just happened on top of my lack of sleep. I stall for time to figure things out by asking stupid questions.

"So..." I begin. It's sort of hard to talk, but I'm not very surprised that he used his demon magic on me. I should've expected it really. My voice sounds weak and shaky, like I'm losing it. "You're like John Coffey or something?"

"What? No. Who the fuck is that?" His voice sounds weird too, but I can't figure out why. His hands are shaking slightly, so I wonder if he's hurt. Then he picks me up in a smooth motion and drops me on my bed, very unceremoniously I might add. "Lay there. What's that thing that makes humans feel better? ...Booze?"

He sounds so ingenuous that I laugh. "No. I'm not allowed to drink that," I answer him. I'm happy to be back in my bed, but he is just staring at me like I'm crazy. "Why do you care so much about me anyway?"

"I don't," he answers quickly. "It's just that I don't want to make a mess of things... I'm not even supposed to be here, you know." I look at him, not understanding what he's talking about, and he sits down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his neck. "Ok. You probably don't get it, but in my world... Well,. humans matter there too, even if there are none there. We've got our connections on earth. If I kill someone, a human, on earth, there're still ramifications. You get me?"

"Sort of," I answer. "But aren't you the Bogeyman? Can't you do whatever you want?"

"It's complicated," he responds. "Just get some sleep. That curse took a lot out of you, even if you don't realize it."

"Thanks... You can share my bed if you want, Dave."

"No, I'm good. Haven't slept like that in years... You know, I don't need as much sleep as humans do..."

"That's nice. I could do so much more stuff if I didn't have to sleep..." I'm drifting off, but I can still hear him talking, understand what he's saying.

"Take it from me, dude. When you've lived a thousand years and a thousand _more _years, sometimes sleepin' is the only thing _to _do."

A thousand years is a crazy long time, and it sets my damaged thought process into a frenzy. I wish I didn't have to believe him, but at that point, I didn't have a choice. There was so much I didn't, and probably never would, understand about him. My mind was sent reeling with all the unanswered questions – where did he come from, what was he doing here, what was going to happen to me, and above all what _was _he? If a bogeyman was a thing, then what did it really do? I replay the words he said earlier that night. _Whatever you heard about me, it's probably not true. _

"Hey," comes his voice suddenly. My fading vision is focused on his hand, white and speckled, resting inches from my lips. "Didn't I tell you to go to sleep, dipshit? We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

I think of my first day at school, how my Dad would be up in an hour, take a shower, make breakfast, and come in to wake me up thirty minutes later. I close my eyes and let out a shaky sigh. Right before I drift off to sleep, I feel something touching my face, pushing back my hair, but I can't tell if this is a dream or reality.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"John, wake up!"

My eyes open, and I'm rolled over on my front, limbs akimbo and sore from exhaustion. The voice screaming in my ear wasn't my dad's but my sister's, Jane, and she's standing there staring at me like I'm some unbelievable convict, you know, the kind that drown their six toddlers in the bathtub or something. "What'd I do?" I ask, groggily and defensively, rubbing my sore eyes.

"It's Dad..." she answers, and I feel a surge of terror, because I can already tell by the look on her face that there's something really wrong.

"What?" I nearly shout, my throat closing up. "What hap—"

I'm cut off by the feeling of her arms around my shoulders and her landing in my lap, crying. "He fell down the steps. I found him lying there, and he told me to call the ambulance... I'm sorry! I should've woken up when I heard him fall!"

"Shh," I hiss sharply, running my fingers through her hair. "It's not your fault. It's gonna be ok..."

I want to be there for her, but my insides are mess. I'm already shaking from the lack of sleep, and now I'm sick to my stomach. If I have to worry about my dad on top of all this bogeyman shit, then I'm not going to make it until Christmas. All my hair is going to turn gray, and I am going to die of a stress-heart attack before I finish puberty. Speaking of the Bogeyman, he's nowhere in sight, of course. I pray that it was all a dream, but that would be too good to be true. He's probably seated in my closet, watching this whole scene play out for his entertainment.

Jane pulls back suddenly, scrubbing the tears from her face. "Sorry, John," she says shakily, collecting herself. "Can you get dressed, please? We have to get to the hospital."

We both get up out of my bed as she makes her way to the door. I ask, "What about school?" She just shrugs in response to that, and I figure I'm not going.

Once she leaves my room, I pull on a pair of shorts and a flannel shirt, then glance at the closet. It's open just a little bit, and I stare at it shyly, my heart pounding. I step over to it slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible, and debate whether to knock. I quickly decide that it would be really stupid and pull open the door. "Dave?" I ask quietly, but when I peer inside, there's no one there.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

It's noon before we get to see Dad. Jane starts crying immediately when we enter his room, with good reason, because he doesn't even look like our dad anymore. He's more like a mummy, all bandaged up with cuts and bruises all over him. I'm just happy he's conscious. "How're you doing, Dad?" I ask him, resting my hand on the metal rail caging him in. All bandaged up like that, I doubt he'll go anywhere though.

He smiles at me reassuringly, and I see his shoulder twitch slightly, probably just a dadly reflex to ruffle my hair or whatever that he can't perform because he's so wrapped up. "Never better," he responds with a chuckle. "Don't you worry about me, son. I need you to hold down the fort until I get home. Take care of your sister. All right?"

I nod. "Ok, Dad," I respond, finding it in me to smile a little bit. Jane runs over suddenly, fumbling with the plastic pitcher to get him something to drink.

"Here, Daddy," she gushes. She spills it on him like a klutz and starts freaking out, and Dad starts to laugh.

It isn't quite as robust as usual, but it makes me laugh too, which smooths out some of the tension inside of me. Even Jane starts to grin, taking a deep breath. "Um, John, why don't you go get something from the vending machine? I have to talk to Dad alone for a while..." She gropes around in her purse for money, and I accept it grudgingly. They're going to start talking about bills, and apparently I'm not old enough for that, not that I care. It's just boring stuff anyway.

"I'll be back, Dad," I promise, and he smiles at me in response. I push through the door and start to wander the halls, unsure of where I'm headed. I remember seeing vending machines in the lobby, but I forget where that room is. I hang left for shits and giggles and stroll down a long hallway. Some of the lights are burned out overhead, and the rooms on the sides of me look like they haven't been touched in years. The numbers on the door plaques are shabby, and as I pass them I glance inside and only make out stacks of boxes and abandoned medical equipment.

I'll admit I'm getting a little scared at this point, but the whole thing is giving me an adrenaline rush. I can't stop. The fear grows inside of me as I near the end of the hallway, an old industrial elevator acting as the creepy centerpiece of the back wall. An out of order sign is taped on the front of it. I pause for a moment, breathing shakily. I'm weak in the knees from the lack of sleep when I turn towards the door on my right. It's even more rundown than the rest of the doors to the rooms, wood splintering. It has an old, round door handle and hasn't been upgraded like the rest of the doors on the wing.

I reach out and grab it tentatively, almost expecting to be burned or shocked. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and turn it. I'm not surprised when it doesn't give. I laugh to myself slightly, then yelp when I feel a freezing cold grip on my shoulder. "What are you doing here, you little dork?"

I'm roughly turned and slammed against the door, and it creaks with the force. I'm staring up dizzily at a person who is strikingly familiar, and I quickly make the connection. It's because this person looks just like Dave. But he's not Dave – he's meaner and bigger. He's a lot more muscular, at least fifty or sixty pounds on Dave and who knows how much more dangerous. He's got that same supernatural air to him, the white hair and skin, even pointy, triangle shades and spiky hair to contrast Dave's rounder look. He's not wearing a suit though. He's got on white hospital scrubs, like a nurse.

"You shouldn't be snooping around where you're not warranted," he says calmly. His voice is deep and threatening, and he presses me harder into the door. "This wing happens to be restricted."

"S-sorry. I'll just go back..." I stutter, but his grip is unrelenting.

"Nah, I don't think so, little shit." He gets his face close to mine, breathes me in, like he can smell something on me. Hissing, he asks, "Where is he?"

I have the sinking feeling I know exactly who _he _is, but I want to keep quiet because it could save my life, or Dave's. "Uh, sorry? I-I don't think we've ever—"

He tosses me easily into the elevator doors, where my back and head slam off the surface. I slump on the floor, breathing hard, too scared to move. I dry heave, but I can't throw up because I haven't eaten anything for more than twelve hours. He walks over slowly and stands over me, placing his foot on my chest, applying pressure until it feels like he's about to crush my sternum.

"Don't play dumb with me, human," he snaps. "I smell him on you. Trust me, I've been playing this game a lot longer than you. And I make the rules."

I remember what Dave said after he cursed me, find my strength and look him dead in the mirrored sunglasses. "You can't kill me..."

"How cute," he snarls, though he looks anything but amused. "Just watch me."

I brace myself for pain, but he's gone in the next second. I hear Jane calling me and scramble to my feet. I'm not about to let an opportunity to escape go to waste, since it would most likely result in my death. I sprint through the hallway, unable to feel safe until I see her standing there, doctors and nurses all shuffling quickly through the halls.

"There you are," she says. "Don't wander off like that. It's time to go."

"I didn't get to say goodbye to Dad," I respond, out of breath, and she stares at me quizzically.

"We'll see him tomorrow. He needs his rest..." She pauses. "Are you all right? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

I want to tell her that I have, but there was no way that she'd believe me. Jane is Doubting Thomas. Instead, I just nod, and I lead her out of the hospital.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

**a/n: **oh no, did things just get dramatic? that thing says humor, doesn't it? it totally does and goshdarnit, i am _not _changing it. but anyway guys, this note is seriously important and oh god, why did half of you just click out without reading this? smh. on with it – so i know the updating status of this fic seems to have a bright future, but i have to write this disclaimer that it may stop updating twice weekly. please go easy on me guys, i have school and work and my schedule is a little hard to balance right now. i will try my darnedest to get the chapters out once a week at least but i can't promise anything at this time. **that being said **you guys are so awesome, i know you'll understand. peace out.


	4. Visitors

**a/n: **ok i am loving on you guys so hard right now for reading my last a/n. things with school didn't exactly work out so i'm looking for another, better, full-time job right now. so blah blah blah, my boring life none of you care about. t**o you guys**, this means more time for updates? why yes, yes it does.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

I'm not big on talking to strangers. It's sort of something ingrained in my psyche since my Dad had to tell me that the fat, sweaty guy at the mall wasn't really Santa and the dude in the ice cream truck was a registered sex offender. But in the last seventy-two hours, I've had two attempts made on my life by two different demons, and this girl may be my only hope.

Her name is Rose Lalonde. Rose Lalonde, aged 15, same as me, seeing spirits since she was two years old. Rose Lalonde, she's a bona fide clairvoyant and a certified paranormal investigator. She's got papers, as if I even knew that papers for that kind of thing even exist. She's legit, this Rose Lalonde. She's the real McCoy. And this Rose Lalonde, she asks for my address, so I give it to her. What do I have to lose if some psychic, possibly schizophrenic(?) girl shows up at my front door, right? I'm being targeted by demons. Apparently I'm already bound by some contract with Dave.

Speaking of Dave, I haven't seen him since last night. I haven't exactly been able to pin down his schedule yet. Why do I care? It's not like we're married or something, it's just that when your new roommate is a demon and you're rendezvousing with a psychic to give you advice on how to get rid of him, it's beneficial to know when you'll have your little private time. But since he's mastered the art of invisibility and probably teleportation, time travel, and mind control, nothing's ever a given anymore.

I ex out the window, shut down my computer, and contemplate destroying the evidence and hanging on to some hope that Rose Lalonde of Rainbow Falls, New York, will hop her private jet to Yakima and land a plane in my front yard. I almost smash the monitor with the keyboard when I hear the front door fly open and a raucous voice holler, "Where's my favorite cousin!?"

I pry my sweaty hands off it and run to my bedroom door, still startled. I walk cautiously to the top of the steps, start down, and nearly slip, but Jake is already halfway up, and he's grinning. "There you are, you rapscallion!" he exclaims. I try to double back up the stairs but he grabs me by my shirt, pulls me back down to where he's standing and puts me in a headlock. "Let's go a bout, eh, old boy?"

"No!" I manage to wrench from his grip and squeeze past him, down the steps and into the kitchen, where Jane is cooking dinner. "Why is he here?" I stand by her side in case she can offer me some protection, which she obviously can't.

"He heard about Dad and wanted to help out," she responds, and I sulk. "Can't you just be nice to him, John? He's doing us a big favor, you know..."

"He only punches _me, _though. There's no us in punch, Jane."

"You don't know how long Dad's going to be in the hospital, John. Until then, we could really use the extra help."

_Extra help_ in this case means that Jake's a billionaire, and he's going to start paying the bills around here until Dad gets back. And concerning any extended hospital stays, I really don't want to hear it. I storm out of the kitchen and flop on the couch. The living room is lofty and dark and echoey, and above all else, it's cold. If it was more like our old living room, I wouldn't hate it as much. If there was a window here and there instead of the discolored spot where a deer or bear head used to be mounted, maybe I'd like it better. If it didn't smell like mildew and the great outdoors, perhaps I could get used to it instead of want to shit all over the next guy who delivers a Timberland catalog to our door.

"John?" I turn my attention to my cousin, standing in the doorway. He looks upset, genuinely concerned, and I sink down against the couch because he always has this way of making me feel shitty about my misgivings. "Can I sit with you?"

"Yeah. I don't know how much you've heard on our laws, but America's a _free _country." I try not to make my tone so cutting and fail miserably. Jake crosses the room and sits next to me, smiling.

"America's great!"

At that moment I'm kind of glad that he's so oblivious, and we do have a lot in common, after all. Jake's probably the closest thing I'll have to an actual friend for a while, since I'm not sure how to cope with a social life on top of all the turmoil in my house. That moment's the first time since my dad didn't believe me that I even consider telling someone else about Dave. Yes, I think Jake would believe me. Tell Jake that someone wrote gullible on the ceiling and he'll spend the rest of the night looking for it. The real question is whether or not I _want_ him to believe me.

"Did I do something wrong?" Jake asks, out of the blue. I stare at him for a moment, trying to reconnect with reality, and he continues. "If I've done something to offend you, then I'm terribly sorry."

I don't have the heart to tell him I hate _fisticuffs_, and my hand finds his shoulder. "Dude, no. I'm just upset about Dad."

His face relaxes, his lips part slightly, and then he makes a noise. He grabs me, this time even harder, and presses me against his chest. "Ohh, cripes, John! You can cry."

He says this so matter-of-fact that I find it hard to believe, and he smells so strongly of woodsy cologne that it chokes the air out of me. It's so painfully obvious that he's never done this before. And awkward. Super awkward. Awkward times a million. So awkward that I'm actually relieved when I hear the sound of something smashing from upstairs. I wrench away from him, which is easy because he's already let go of me.

"What was that?" he asks. I can tell he's getting all wound up because he's already halfway off the couch. I leap to my feet and try to calm him down.

"Just my—" _Monster roommate. _"Cat! I better go check on him, ok?"

Jake scrunches his eyebrows, then nods, relaxing back onto the couch. Before Jane has time to appear from the kitchen, demanding an explanation, I race out of the room to the staircase. I feel slightly guilty at leaving Jake to face her, but it's all I can do to buy the extra time I need to smooth whatever Dave's problem is over.

I throw open the door when I reach my room, yelping at the sight of something flying past me in a blur. That something is Dave. Before my eyes have time to transmit the images to my brain, I'm tripping on my overturned mattress on my way to his side. He's bloody and bruised and barely moving, and the next thing I see is triangle glasses guy. He's standing in front of my closet, hardly scratched, unfazed by me. "What'd you do?" I scream. I didn't even think about Jake or Jane, about them overhearing me. Triangle doesn't answer me.

I turn to Dave. His suit is torn to shreds, and his glasses are broken. There are scratches all over him, but they're not quite _scratches, _more like cuts. Deep ones. "John, leave," he says in a strained tone, trying to stand up.

"That won't be necessary," says Triangle. "I can get rid of him right now."

"Don't kill him, he's mine," Dave blurts. The other guy doesn't seem very convinced, and there's something in his hand. Something bright and unnatural.

At that moment, I don't really think. I don't consider my imminent death, or what any of this means. I'm tired of demons, I'm tired of monsters, I'm tired of the supernatural and confusing mysteries and enigmas in sunglasses. I grab Dave's sword, get up, and shove it through Triangle. He doesn't react at all. He just looks down at me through those dark glasses, unfeeling. I pull it out with no resistance, no blood. I can't hurt him. The light has disappeared out of his hand though, and he pushes me down.

I hit my head on the floor and can't move. It's not because I'm hurt, but because he isn't letting me. I'm staring at the ceiling, and the worst thing about this is that I can't see either one of them. "You think it's him, then?" asks the triangle guy.

I hear Dave scoff, but his voice is weak. "Wouldn't you say so?"

There's no response from the other, but I can move again. I get up and glance towards the closet, but like I expected, Triangle disappeared. I scramble over to Dave, because he's a bloody mess. I start pulling the ribbons of clothes from his body, but he grabs my face suddenly. I freeze, breathing shakily, and I'm not really sure if I should expect him to hurt me or not.

He just says, "You're crying."

I hadn't realized it until then, and I blush, embarrassed for some reason as he wipes my tears away. "I'm sorry, Dave. That's the guy that tried to kill me at the hospital. This is my fault."

"Your fault?" He's using his magic to slowly rearrange my room, putting things back where they were and unbreaking things that were broken. "Dude, he's my parents' fault."

When everything is back where it should be, I help him up and get him on my bed. "What do you mean?"

"He's my bro. Dirk."

"Why's he so pissed at us, then?" I ask as I loose his shirt from his upper body. I can't help but stare at him, because his skin is so white and there are old scars all over his back. He's rangy and muscled, and ok, I'll admit, smooth. But I won't admit that my hands were probably trailing way below what we were both comfortable with and he had to use his spells to freeze my arms behind my back.

"Dude, easy now," he begins teasingly, smirking at me. "Didn't know I had a molester on my hands, fuck. What did I get myself into?"

I feel my cheeks burning, but I can't exactly look away from him. "It was an accident, ok? I'm not gay!" I eventually lose my balance without the use of my arms and fall on my face.

I guess he deems it fit to let my lie there groaning while he throws his destroyed clothes on me. I hear him shift under the blankets when I can move again, and I stand up and look down at him. He looks remarkably better than he did just a minute ago, the cuts growing smaller and the bruises fading. His glasses have put themselves back together in the frames, the shattered pieces reassembling without a crack. Even his jacket was mending on its own. I watched as blood was vacuumed back into a cut on his shoulder at a microscopic level.

"Bogeyman magic is a nifty thing," I breathe.

"Sure is, buddy," he responds, motioning for me to lie next to him. Keep in mind that I'm not keen on getting in bed with naked dudes, but it is _my _bed after all. "It's great to know you will be immortal and alone for the rest of your existence, which is eternal, until further notice." I'm quiet, thinking, wondering if Dave meant it when he said he'd been alive for thousands of years. It didn't seem possible, but when it came to him, I was pretty convinced that just about everything was possible. "So, tell me, Johnny boy, why did you try to kill Dirk?"

His voice is even regaining strength, but he sounds sleepy. I shrug. "I didn't want him to hurt me, I guess," I respond. There is silence after that, but Dave doesn't take long to break it.

"Yeah but that's not quite it, right John? You didn't want him to hurt _me_. Am I on the money or what?"

I don't want to answer that, not because I don't want to admit that it's true, but because there's no reason for it to be true. Of course I didn't want Dave to get hurt. But Dave is not a human, or even my friend. He's the Bogeyman, and whatever that is, he shows up in my closet, endangers my life, and makes me run errands for him. What reason do I have to protect him, or even care about him?

"Can we go to sleep now?" I ask. No matter how he answers, I'm doing it anyway.


	5. Sweetest Thing

Even though I'm far away from my old home, one thing has not changed. I hate school. Still, there's nothing like boring classes and self-important teenaged douches to take your mind off things. Except when that one thing you're trying to take your mind off shows up at your school in an ostentatious red convertible, holding a bouquet of flowers.

He's not wearing the red suit, but something a lot more normal. Jeans and a white v-neck, a red leather jacket and tennis shoes. His pretentious glasses are still propped up on his face, and he's just looking at me with that weird poker face. He's standing there in front of a red sports car with a fuckton of flowers while a little mob has amassed about twenty feet away just to gawk at him, and he's just staring at me. Great. I'm already having enough trouble fitting in.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, grabbing the flowers out of his hands and concealing them inside my over shirt to the best of my ability. He ignores me, leaning his head down until he's right in my face. "What are you doing?" I ask. I try to pull away but find that I can't move, and I see his ever-so-slight smirk as he kisses me.

And no, it's not just a little peck. This is a full-on mouth kiss, done very sloppily in a way that I have to suspect is on purpose, and I have to close my eyes to mitigate my embarrassment. When I can finally move again, I can't decide whether I should hit him or hide under his jacket. He just wipes his puffy lips smugly and opens the door for me. "Get in, loser."

So I do. Why? Because any resistance or argument with this guy results in becoming a human puppet, and I'll end up doing it anyway, against my will, and God knows what else. "Where are we going?" I ask him, but I don't plan on addressing his behavior until we are alone and far out of earshot of the school.

"On a date," he responds, and I feel my pulse kickstart and my ears turn red.

"Date? Are you out of your mind? Aren't you supposed to be in hiding or something?"

He snorts and glances over at me. "Relax. It's not like I don't still _look _like a human. Besides, if you keep acting like that, you'll make the perfect distraction."

I realize that he's got a point, and I am shouting. So I just sink down into my seat and think passive aggressive thoughts. Convertibles are not an ideal choice for cloudy, October weather, and I can tell he's already learned this the hard way by the way he's shivering. I scoff when he's forced to put the top up because his teeth are chattering so much. "So why did you kiss me in front of everyone?" I ask, and I can't even say the words without blushing.

He just shrugs slightly, as impassive as ever. "Felt like it." He swings across traffic recklessly onto a back road, one that I don't recognize.

"That's not a real answer," is my response, but his response to that is just silence. "Why are you taking me on a date?"

"To repay you for saving my life. Or at least _thinking _you did."

He suddenly _smiles_, and I'm taken aback, because I've never seen him actually smile like that. And he has dimples, not that I usually notice guys' dimples. In spite of the fact that he just insulted me, I smile too, because him smiling makes me want to smile. It would make anyone smile. Trust me, if you saw it, you'd be smiling too. And I so do _not _think this sleazy demon guy is cute right now, mind you.

But it fades shortly after, and he looks thoughtful. "You know, I've never met a human who stuck his neck out for me before like that." His voice is quiet, shy even. "Thanks, John."

"You're welcome," I answer almost automatically. As weird as it is to see him acting so different, I like it a lot. Since I met him he's been in constant control of his emotions and surroundings. This is a lot more intimate.

"Hey... John," he begins. I was staring ahead at the road, but I notice that he turns to look at me. I can't look back though.

"Yeah?"

"...Do you believe in—"

"Dave!"

He slams on the brakes suddenly, and an all black cat streaks out from the side of the narrow road, disappearing into a field of tall grass. I'm thrown into the dashboard and hit my arm pretty hard trying to stop myself, and by the look on Dave's face he's pretty spooked by the incident. "Keep your eyes on the road," I admonish him, sinking back and putting my seat belt on.

He lets out a deep breath. "Sorry," he mumbles, and I feel bad when I see his hands shaking slightly. He was apparently really freaked out by everything.

He continues to drive hesitantly, and I find myself smiling a little. "Bad luck," I mumble.

I don't really know why I'm smiling, because more bad luck is exactly what I don't need right now. But I'm starting to think that maybe if I'm that unlucky, it'll just start to cancel itself out. Can it even do that? Probably not, I'm not that fortunate.

When Dave stops the car, I don't see anything. Just a long field with a forest behind it, and no sign of a house or the city. "Where the hell are we?" I ask as he gets out of the car and walks over to open my door, before I have a chance.

"Come on, just get out of the car." He's standing in front of me, leaning down slightly, one arm rested against the roof.

"No fucking way, this is creepy!" I make sure my seat belt stays buckled for extra security.

"Dude. Get out. Of. My. Car."

"I don't know what dates are like where you're from, but this is _not _a date, _Dave._"

"...Just get out, shorty."

"Did you really just call me short?"

The next thing I know, I'm taking off my seat belt, sliding out of the car, and closing the door. It's the first time I physically try to resist his mind control, and I fail utterly. When I can move on my own again, I smack him on the arm and run back to the car, but he's already locked the doors and walking away, towards a thicket of trees. "Come _on,_" he calls petulantly.

I catch up to him and shove him. "You are _not _allowed to do that to me anymore!"

"Says who?" he asks, paying hardly any attention as we approach the forest.

"Says... me!"

He stops, turns around, and looks down at me. "What are you gonna do about it? Shorty."

My face is flushing, and the next thing I know, he's on the ground. My hand hurts, and his mouth is bleeding. He looks shocked, his mouth open and his eyebrows raised, but it really felt good to hit him.

"Ok, John. You win. No more mind control."

"Really?" I breathe in disbelief, then offer my hand and help him up.

"Yeah. I'll just do it the old-fashioned way..."

"Wait, what?"

He quickly reaches out and grabs my arm, and before I have any time to react, he throws me over his shoulder and starts to walk.

"Ah, Dave, come on! I'll walk, I'll walk!"

"Damn Egbert, how'd you know I like my men a little chunky?" He grabs my ass, possibly to emphasize his point.

I'm blushing, and I'll admit that I've eaten my fair share of baked goods back in the day, but I am _not _chunky. I struggle until I've loosed his grip and roll off the side of him, landing on the ground without him even waving his hand to pretend to interfere. The impact hurt my sore back more than anything else, and I just lay in the grass for a while, staring at the cloudy sky. It's wet and muddy, but I don't want to get up because I think I'm entitled to be a baby.

"Good thing you've got all that extra padding or that might've really hurt," says Dave flippantly.

"You're a jerk," I respond, surprised when he kneels down and pulls me up.

"Come on, try not to get all dirty right before our date."

"This _isn't _a date!"

He suddenly grabs me by the shoulders, pushes me back down, gently, and places his lips over mine. I try to escape, but I know there's no way I can get away from him, especially since he's doing _that._ Dave's lips are on mine, and they're moving, which means he's _kissing _me, and my lips are moving too, which means _I'm _kissing _him. _But it's just his mind control powers, I try to convince myself. Somehow, I'm not too sure of that. I don't think I can accredit his magic spell to anything but just him being _Dave_. Cheesy, I know.

"Is it now?" he asks after he finally pulls away, his pale face with an unnaturally bright pink tint. He's too beautiful to describe, and even if he was human, he's so flawless he couldn't look it.

Before I go on, let me give the audience some dating advice. First of all, don't call your date fat. Don't use freaky magic powers on them – that's a big no-no. It's also the best way to scare a first date away. Take them somewhere they actually want to go, and oh yeah, this is important, make sure you have their consent first. Please don't kiss them, throw them in your car, and drive away, unless you think you're some incredibly romantic douchebag in sunglasses, which my date obviously does.

And I'll admit that he is.

I _guess_...

...But if that hadn't been my first _real kiss _then probably not!

I push him off weakly and get up, because the grass is wet and sticking to my neck and making me totally uncomfortable. "Uh," I respond, threading my hand through my hair nervously. I'd never been on a date, so I didn't really know. He gets up from the ground and pulls me up after him.

"Come on, I want to show you something."

He starts leading me towards the woods, and I try not to trudge, but I'm getting tired and a little suspicious. It's not that I don't trust Dave, it's just that I don't know _why _I trust Dave. And that scares me more than anything. It's not until we're halfway into the woods that I realize he's holding my hand, and it's cold and smooth while mine are always sweaty and warm and gross. Still, I just pretend he doesn't care and stare at my shoes and smile goofily while I think about this.

I haven't realized that he's not walking anymore when I feel a tug on my arm. "What?" I ask, looking back at him, and he reaches his hand up to cover my eyes. "What are you doing, Dave?"

"You're still not scared, right?"

"No, of course I'm not."

"Then just follow my lead..."

He starts to usher me forward, and even though he's holding onto me, I reach my arms out in front of me to make sure I don't run into anything. I hear him laugh automatically at this, and I can't help but to smile too.

"Ok, dude, no. I have to tell you, you look like such a tool."

"I can't help it, I don't want to run into anything!"

"Just put your arms down, ok? Chill, John, I'm not gonna let you fall."

"Promise?" I feel my chest heat up when his hand grazes my elbow.

"Yeah. Promise."

I drop my arms and let him lead me along. He always warns me or slows me down when there's anything to trip over, and holds onto my arm firmly with his other hand. I laugh slightly ever so often, but he takes his job so seriously. Within a few moments, we stop, and Dave asks me, "You ready?"

"Yes," I respond, trying not to consider the possibilities of him leading me to a bunch of hungry monsters or worse, his asshole of a brother. But when I open my eyes, all I see is a scene that looks like its been ripped out of a storybook. We're standing in a small clearing, a table in the center. Its long and rectangular and set up with a million candles, the only light source in the early twilight. The ground around us is covered in tons of red roses to distinguish from the fallen leaves and dirt of the rest of the forest.

"You did this for me?" I ask in disbelief, and he leads me to one of the chairs on the far end of the table.

"Yeah," he replies nonchalantly. "And here's for dinner."

He bends down and sticks his hand under the table cloth, which reaches all the way to the ground, and produces a huge bag. After emptying its contents in front of me, I realize it's none other than a menagerie of the candy I've been buying him and can't help but laugh. Another dating tip: bring something that your date actually _wants _to eat. But of course, I don't have the heart to tell him that. He pours apple juice into two champagne flutes and sits next to me, handing me one. We toast, and I giggle.

"You know, this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," I say, feeling suddenly shy as I look down and realize we're both pivoted towards each other, our knees touching. "I mean... I've never like, been on a date before."

He smirks while crunching M&M's, then drinks his apple juice from the bottle. "I thought you'd have girls lined up to the corner, Egbert. You're really something, you know."

I feel a blush and tell myself it's just the heat from the candle flames. Then we both proceed to get really sugar high. I explain my peanut allergies to Dave, and he helps me sort through the candy, then swears off Snickers since I've always wanted to try them. I tell him he really doesn't have to do that. "You really don't have to do that," I tell him. But he just waves his hand negligently and tells me I'm not missing anything. He doesn't like them that much.

He snorts lines of Pixie Sticks after he gets rowdy enough and makes me laugh so hard I fall out of my chair. He comes over to help me up after he's done sneezing, but I just pull him down with me and tell him I like the way the roses smell. He swears that they're fake, but I can't believe him because the scent is so strong and they feel so soft. When he finally kisses me again, it's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

When I walk home alone the next day, I'm a little bit peevish. Dave disappeared immediately after delivering me back home last night and hasn't returned ever since. At first I thought he was just going to hide his car somewhere, but then I realized he can probably just shift it to invisible or something. He wasn't there in the morning or at night. It wasn't that I _wanted _him around, it was just that I was a little confused about last night and hoped that he could clarify some things for me. Mainly, why he took me on a date.

I'll admit I may have gotten caught up in the moment and done a few things I regret, but at least I had stuck around in case he wanted to talk about it. Well, really, I didn't have a choice but even if I could go somewhere, I _wouldn't _have, and that's what counts. When I arrive back at the house, Jake's Jeep is gone, which means he probably went grocery shopping with Jane. I get so lonely now without Dave, as much as I hate to admit it.

I sigh and walk up the porch steps, pulling my key out of my pocket. "Hello," says a voice suddenly. I start, whirling around defensively, my back to the door. I sincerely hope it's not more Bogeymen, because I am about to shit my pants. I hear the voice chuckle, and I'm staring at a girl around my height with light blond hair, black lipstick, and pale lavender, catlike eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Something in my brain suddenly clicks, and I reach out to grab her outstretched hand. It feels like ice. "Uh, you must be—"

"Rose Lalonde, clairvoyant."


	6. La Belle et la Bête

"I'm John," I reply, and Rose looks disdainful of my hand. I quickly pull it back and wipe it on my shorts.

"I know. You're exactly as pictured," she responds, and I don't really feel the need to apologize for my sweaty hands, since she apparently already knows everything about me. I kind of just stare at her, and she smirks. "Well, are you going to invite me in or not?"

"Oh! Yeah, uh, sorry..." I finish unlocking the door and pull it open to let her in. I follow after her, and she sort of just walks around where she pleases, lingering quietly. "My sister lives here, and my cousin's staying with us for a while, but they're—"

"Quiet please."

"Uh, sorry?"

"Shh."

The longer she kind of wanders around my staircase blindly, the more I start to suspect that maybe this is all just a bunch of bullshit. I follow her up the stairs, into my room, which she picked out without me telling her. She touches things, particularly my bed, and I don't know if I should feel creeped out or not. We leave my room and she makes a beeline for my Dad's door, but I hold her back.

"I'm not allowed in my Dad's room," I tell her, and she turns to me.

"I'm sorry. What happened to him?"

"Huh?"

"Your father. He's hurt, isn't he?"

"Oh... He, um, fell down the stairs."

She raises her eyebrows, then nods at me. I try not to overanalyze her look just now, but I can't help but feel like she's hinting at something. I follow her back down the steps. "Is there somewhere we can sit down? The spiritual energy in your home is overwhelming, and I'd like to discuss things with you concerning your problem."

"Sure," I agree. I lead her into the living room, and we sit down on opposite sides of the sofa.

"After carefully analyzing your accounts online, I've come to the conclusion that you are being haunted by a very particular and rare kind of embodiment, but in order to confirm this, I'll need an exact delineation of your experiences."

"Um..." I lean back on the couch, and a blush rises to my cheeks thinking of the things I've actually _done _with this 'embodiment.' "You mean, like... _everything?_"

"Yes." She has produced a little black book and a pen and is already scribbling. "And don't deviate from the truth, please. It will hinder me in making my final analysis." I hesitate, and sensing this, she looks up over her notebook. "Don't be ashamed of anything. Your specific type of antagonist tends to be very manipulative in nature."

_Manipulative. _Dave fits that bill exactly. "If I tell you this stuff, are you going to hurt him?"

"...So you're attached to it?" Her writing picks up its pace slightly, and I feel my face flush.

"Attached? N-no! I just, uh... don't want you to do anything bad to him..."

"And why not?" The scribbling is furious now.

"Bluh, just nevermind! Here's how it happened, ok?"

I relate my story to her, but even being as brief as possible, it takes a good forty five minutes. She never looks up once from her note taking and urges me on when I try to slow down. "That's it, I guess," is what I say at the end. She glances over her notes, lips parted slightly, and writes one more thing at the bottom of the page. She circles it, then clicks her pen and tucks it and her notebook into her bag.

"So what is he? A Bogeyman?"

"No. _Bogeyman _is a term he is using to explain things very simply, and most likely to evade further scrutiny. He is not really any kind of monster, or demon, or spirit... in fact, he's human."

"You expect me to believe he's human when he has mind control powers and levitates shit?"

She turns slowly, knitting her eyebrows, which are super pale and almost blend in with her skin. Then her face smooths out, though she's still staring off into space. "I think I may be able to convey it to you simply through example. I'm assuming you've heard the story of _La Belle et la Bête?_"

"Uhh, no..."

"_Beauty and the Beast?_" she translates, smirking in her vulpine way.

"Oh! Well, yeah..." I begin slowly. "But what does that have to do with Dave?"

"Basically, your _Bogeyman _was a human at one time, cursed by a sorcerer of some sort, as penalty for one or more very serious character flaws. The curse has made him immortal and left him with certain magical properties."

"So... It's like _Twilight?_"

"No, it's not like _Twilight, _John. More like _La Belle et la Bête._"

"Can we please stop calling it that? I don't speak French."

"All right, fine. _Beauty and the Beast. _Conclusively, there is only one way to break the curse, and that would be to suck the life out of a human body, presumably yours, and consume the soul."

"WHAT?!"

She begins to chuckle uncontrollably, but her face doesn't even flush because of all the pasty makeup she's wearing. "Lighten _up, _I was _kidding_." I glare at her, since she obviously thinks making a joke out of my problems is hilarious. "It's love."

"What is?"

"Love is the only thing that will lift the curse. True, romantic, requited love."

She's beaming and blushing, I'm sure, but I'm struck with shock and anger. Suddenly, it all fell into place – the dating and kissing and constant hanging around me. I feel used. The tears hit almost instantaneously, like a sudden punch in the face. Rose doesn't seem at all surprised by this, and I feel her cold fingers wrap around my hand.

"This is a very normal reaction," she says very matter-of-fact. "Not that I've ever dealt with this type of magic. In fact, it's quite out of my field if I'm being perfectly honest. That's why I've taken on your case free of charge."

"Thanks," I sniffle, and somehow I get the feeling she's not as certified as she claims to be and her papers may be just a little bit fraudulent.

"But I _can _tell you this..." She pauses, as if considering whether or not she should actually say what she is about to say. "Your father didn't _fall _down the steps. Someone pushed him."

I feel my insides go cold, betrayed in the worst possible way. I don't want to talk or look at her or think about what she's even saying. I hear her stand up from my couch and feel her hand on my shoulder. "Keep in touch," she says quietly. "I'm eager to hear how this turns out. And I'll show myself to the door, thank you."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

I can't help but feel more and more set up. First I find out that I'm being used as some cursed guy's true love antidote, then I'm told that on top of shamelessly using me, he pushed my Dad down the stairs too. This guy that I trusted, against my better judgement. The guy I risked my life for. The guy that I think I'm sort of starting to... Wait, no. _NO_. I am NOT going to use the "L" word in this narrative...

I'm not really sure where I'm going, trudging down the road in twilight to try to walk off some of this unbridled anger, and I know I shouldn't be. Jane or Jake is no doubt home by now, looking everywhere for me, worried sick. I'll be lucky if they don't call the cops. I sigh, deciding it's time to double back and go home, and... wait, did I pass that tree on the way here? What about that house? And which way did I turn back at that fork?

...Great, now I don't know where I am. I groan, threading my hands through my hair. But I'm sure things can be _much _worse, until I hear this voice.

"You lost?"

_Dave. _I turn around and give him a giant shove, making him stumble backwards slightly and hold out his hands in a shrugging type of motion. He tips his head to the side, giving me that stupid, oblivious face. "Did I do something?"

"_Did I do something?_" I mimic him. I usually don't resort to childish mockery, but _this _is a special occasion.

"What's your problem, dude?"

"Um, let's see, how 'bout my Dad's in the hospital, my life is in danger, and there's a histrionic magic guy living in my house and trying to make me fall in love with him!"

"Wait, what?"

I nearly scream in frustration and turn around, starting back down the road. Dave steps forward and grabs me by the arm. I start to cry and tear away, but he quickly catches me again and doesn't let go. I turn back around to look at him, and there's something about his face. Something that makes me sad. He looks crushed.

"Whoa, whoa, can we talk about this?" he asks. His voice is quieter than normal, and that makes me worry about him.

"There's nothing to talk about. I just wanna go home."

I look at him until he finally lets go, and I slowly start back down the road. I sniffle, pushing the tears out of my eyes as he follows along at my side. "Well, first of all," he begins, his voice back to normal, "that's the wrong way." I weakly let him guide me, since I have more important things on my mind than where I'm going. "Now, don't you think you're being a little melodramatic?"

"Dave. You pushed my Dad down the stairs. He's in the hospital."

"Ok, _understandably _melodramatic..."

"So why?" I explode at him, shoving his arm away when he puts his hand on my head.

"So we could be alone. I didn't want him getting in the way..."

"Getting in the way? What _is _he to you, like some _pest?_"

I stop in the road, and we just stare at eachother. I don't know what to think of him anymore, and I don't know to say to him. I can't _believe _I've fallen for a douchey, self-important guy who can't even remember what it's like to be human, character flaw or not. I'm starting to think that there's more truth in what Rose has told me than I initially realized. He _is _a beast.

"I thought..." I begin, taking a shuddering breath. "I mean, I thought you weren't allowed to hurt people! I thought you said, like, in your world or whatever..."

"Yeah," he replies quickly, and I can hear the slight franticness in his tone. "Why do you think my Bro is so pissed at me?"

"So I guess I should've been on his side the whole time..."

His pale face flushes slightly, and I wonder if it's out of anger. "No, John. Dirk just wants to punish me. He wants to _kill _you."

"Why would he want to kill _me _if he's pissed at you for hurting Dad?"

"Ugh, don't you get it, stupid? It's because I... Just nevermind."

"You what?" I quickly ask, but he vanishes before the words even leave my mouth. I want to scream in annoyance, but I'm sure the neighbors don't need any more reasons to think I'm crazy. I walk home, without being able to stop constantly reminding myself if it wasn't for Dave, I'd be lost out here. In fact, if it wasn't for Dave, I never would've had any friends when I moved here.

Yeah, I never would've had any near-death experiences, but those build character, I'm sure. And sure, Dad wouldn't be in the hospital, but I never would've been on a date. I never would've been kissed. If it wasn't for Dave, I never would've come to adore a douchey, spotted, character-flawed guy-turned-beast. And worst of all, if it wasn't for Dave, I never would've had to use the "L" word in this narrative, because I'm in love him.


	7. Another Deal

Ok, I'll admit it, the thought that there may be a chance that I'd never see my demonic, narcissistic love interest again _did _cross my mind. And on top of that, it _did _make me cry a little. But I never would've admitted that if I knew I'd arrive in my front yard to find him perched on my tire swing and staring at me.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he comments halfheartedly, and I just kind of look at him.

"Why are you still cursed?" I ask. "Do you not love me?"

He seems taken aback, but I know he knows that the jig is up. Rose has filled me in on everything, and I don't know if he knows _how _I know, but he _definitely _knows that I know. He jumps off the swing and walks over to me, pushes his sunglasses up and brushes his white gold hair out of his face.

"I love you," he begins, and I don't know what emotions to feel, "but it's not that easy."

"Why?" I ask, unable to help myself from reaching out and grabbing him by the jacket.

I shuffle closer to him and bury my face in his chest, because I just want to be close to him. I just want to touch him and feel him, the warmth radiating from inside his shirt. He wraps his arms around me, but I'm too comforted to cry.

"John," he begins, holding my shoulders. "I'm sorry for what I did... but I can fix it."

"You can?"

"Yeah. I'll go to the hospital tonight when there's no one around."

I start to feel a little better when I remember how Dave fixed me with his magic, back when he almost killed me in my room and he was John Coffey. When I think about Dad getting out of the hospital, I think about things finally starting to feel ok again. And ok again was definitely the thing I needed.

I put my hands on Dave's face and pull him down to my level, then I kiss him. He seems surprised by this, which makes me happy. Surprising people, especially Dave, is fun. And on top of that, he cares enough to go make my Dad better for me.

"Can I tell Jane?" I ask, even though she won't believe me.

"No," snaps Dave. "Listen John, all this still has to be a secret, ok?"

"Ok..."

Standing out in the yard, I can see my window upstairs, and the light's on. This fills me with a sense of dread, because either Jake or Jane or a home invader is up in my room. I guess Jake or Jane wouldn't be as bad, just awkward and embarrassing, but yeah home invaders are never good. "Did you leave my light on?" I ask, and Dave just frowns.

"Nope."

A second later, he's gone, which just leaves me to throw open the front door and run up the steps. When I see that my door is closed, my heart almost stops. "Dave?" I whisper, but there's no response. I have a bad feeling I'm alone on this, and I curse quietly. He's _still _a douchebag.

Slowly, I grab the door knob and turn it, shocked and horrified at what I find. Dave's brother, triangle glasses guy, Dirk, is in my room, on the floor, surrounded by a little moat of candy. And wouldn't you guess that sitting right next to him is my cousin, Jake.

My jaw drops, and Dirk gives me this _look. _This look like _don't say anything or you're both dead. _And Jake just turns around and grins at me. "Howdy, John! We were just waiting for you."

"Y-you... me... uh, _we? _You mean, you're here of your own will?"

I try hard to ignore the grave stare that Dirk is giving me, and Jake laughs. "What a card! No need to get your knickers all in a twist, I was just keeping the poor fellow company until you got back."

"I... I don't..."

"You know, your schoolmate here! Your chum."

I stand still and can't hear myself breathing, because I'm not. I try to think of what I should do in this situation, evaluate whether or not Jake is in danger, and how much danger I am in. If Dirk has gone out of his way to fabricate a story to fool Jake, then he probably doesn't want to hurt him. "Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry, Dirk, I forgot..."

"It's cool," responds the blond phlegmatically, shrugging ever so slightly. He's the best liar I've ever seen.

"Where's Jane?" I ask quickly, suddenly remembering her.

"The hospital," says Jake, and I swear I'm about to faint.

"What happened?" I demand, making my cousin laugh out loud.

"Visiting your Pops! Jesus criminy, John..."

Dirk looks alert, like he's waiting. Waiting for me or Jake to say something stupid so he can kill us both. I wonder how he was careless enough to let Jake see him, or if he did it on purpose. It feels like forever before Jake stands up and makes his way past me, out the door. I slam it shut and wait until I hear his footsteps all the way down the staircase. Then I look at Dirk.

"What do you want?"

"I know about your little rendezvous with the psychic girl," he states.

"Yeah, so?"

"So now that you know about my Bro's condition, I guess you wanna break the curse. You _love _him, don't you?"

He says that mockingly, but I don't care. I'd love Dave no wonder what anyone says, especially some jerk in stupid anime shades. "Yeah... _duh._" Duh felt like a good comeback, but in retrospect, it was actually pretty lame. That doesn't really matter right now. What matters is that I have a possible death threat on my hands, and to all of you who think I'm being a wimp, and that you would fare _so much better _against paranormal forces, well, shut the fuck up! I'm about to piss my pants right now, and you would be too, ok? Trust me!

He smirks, and I've never seen him show any emotion before. "Did the psychic girl tell you that there's _two _sides to the curse?"

"Uh... no." But Dave had alluded to it out in the yard. I had forgotten to press him on it before he disappeared, as usual.

"Well, as accurately as I can put this, only _half _of the curse is on Dave. The other half's on me. If you want to break one part, you have to break the other part too."

It's that moment when something _almost _clicks but you still quite don't get it. Imagine algebra or something. It's sort of like what Dirk is telling me is half making sense, but I still don't get it, like I'm missing a piece of the puzzle.

"...You want me to be in love with you?"

"No, idiot. It has to be someone else."

"...So you want me to be in love with someone else."

"_Someone else _has to be in love with _me._"

Why do I know where this is going? "You can't have my sister!" I exclaim, and he smirks again.

"I don't want _her. _Let's make a deal..."

I. _Hate. _Deals.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

My boyfriend is cursed. My boyfriend's _brother _is cursed. In order to lift the curse on my boyfriend, I have to get my cousin Jake to fall in love with him. I don't even know how to _do _that, because love is just supposed to happen, right? No. Not when an extremely buff, scary dude is threatening you. But in reality, yes it is, and you can't force it. But in reality, tell the buff scary dude what he wants to hear. It's the most strategic way of doing things.

...And _yes, _I did just call Dave my boyfriend.

But anyway, Dirk is gone for now, and I'm sitting on the couch, watching TV, when Jane walks in the room. "What are you doing up?" she asks me, and I shrug.

"I just have this feeling... About Dad."

"He's fine," she assures me. "I talked to him just today."

"No, I mean, that he'll be back soon..."

Jane scoffs. "John, you know what the doctors said. Dad will be lucky if he gets out in a month. Now stop it."

I shake my head, trying to suppress my smile. "No, Jane. I had this vision. I think I might have some kind of psychic powers."

"Sure," she responds. I didn't expect it to be any different, but it'll be worth it tomorrow when Dad's better, and I get to see the look on her face as she shits her pants.

"Where's Jake gonna go?"

"...When Dad gets home? I don't know. He'll probably take off and disappear for a while like he always does."

Jake the globetrotter. I don't know what I'm going to do when he's gone, except be screwed and have Dirk kill me and take Dave away. There's only one answer. "He can't leave," I say suddenly, which takes Jane by surprise. She cocks her head like she's trying to look in my ear and read my mind.

"What?" she asks slowly. "I thought you didn't like Jake..."

"I... He can't go..." If I bust out the crocodile tears I can probably get Jane to do my bidding, which would be convincing Jake to stay. Somehow, I don't think he'd listen to me.

"John," she sighs, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. "You've been through a lot, ok? New house, new people, new school... But Dad won't be out of the hospital for a while, and we'll get on fine without Jake once he's back. You'll see."

"But Jane, he can't go. I... I really need him to stay..."

"John—"

I can already hear she's on the brink of some deeply psychological, consoling speech when we're both interrupted by a crashing sound. Then I have this feeling that I'm not the only one in on the deal.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"What are the chances," mumbles Jane as we sit around Jake's bedside.

"Maybe our house is haunted," I muse, raising an eyebrow at her.

She shakes her head, and Jake giggles, still tickled from the painkillers for his broken ankle. Luckily, Jake's in a lot better shape than Dad, because Dave had the decency not to go too far this time. Although I wish his timing was better, because it's three in the morning and I'm up waiting in the hospital.

"I'm gonna go walk around," I say, standing up. "You stay and wait for the doctor..."

"Don't get lost this time!"

I smile and don't bother to tell her that I don't think that's going to happen again. The hallways are dim and I know there are a lot of people trying to sleep, and if I got caught by a doctor or a nurse I'll probably get sent back to Jake's room. Dad's asleep and I don't want to disturb him. I take the elevator to the first floor and sneak outside. The sudden cold makes me shiver, but there's not much going on out here. I sit on the curb.

At first, I'm fine, but then I start to feel really tired. I haven't realized until now that I've been up since early in the morning. It's almost like this fact suddenly knocks me out even more, and I lie down on the sidewalk, promising I'll only stay there for a couple minutes before I go back inside, because it's cold and Jane and Jake (or at least Jane since Jake is high) will worry about me. But I start to doubt that I'll keep that promise as my eyes start to close.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

I look up to see Dave standing over me, and he reaches his hand down. I lazily grab hold of it and let him pull me up to my feet. He stares at me thoughtfully for a moment, then shakes his head. "I swear all I ever did to you was make you sleep deprived. You were all bright eyes when I met you and now you're anemic."

"That's a funny way of looking at things," I answer, not sure whether or not to take offense to that. In a way, it was true, but lack of sleep has honestly been the least of my worries.

"Are you mad at me for pushing Jake?" he asks. He's still holding my hand.

"No, I think if you hadn't, Dirk would kill me..." I try not to smile, but I can't help it. "Plus, he's a dick sometimes. Not on purpose, but still."

"I always knew you had a sadistic streak, Egbert."

"How?" I ask, weakly punching him in the arm.

He snorts, using his free hand to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a pack of cigarettes. He slides one out with minimal difficulty, places it between his teeth, and lights it. "Just the impression that I get," he mumbles, pocketing his cigarettes and lighter before bringing his hand up to his mouth. I've never seen him smoke before, but I'm not at all surprised that he does. His voice is always raspy and he smells like it occasionally.

I grip his hand a little tighter and close my eyes, because for a minute, I can imagine what Dave would be like if he was just a normal, non-cursed guy. I can imagine what it's going to be like once he's back to himself, and how happy he'll be, and how we'll be able to be together. I'm tired of secrets. I want Dave to meet my family and be able to hang out with me. I want everything to be normal again. For a couple minutes, I just stand there and pretend it is, until the sound of Dave's steady drags on his cigarette fade and his voice breaks the silence.

"Hey, don't tell me you fell asleep standing up like that."

"Nope," I respond, opening my eyes. The first thing I see is a shooting star, so I make a wish.


	8. Halloween

Today is Halloween. Halloween, for obvious reasons, is Dave's favorite holiday. He can go trick-or-treating in his suit and sunglasses because he's already speckled and white, and doesn't need a costume, and get free candy. Tons of candy, because we were out for five hours until practically midnight, knocking on every door in a five mile radius. I don't think curse-enhanced humans tire out as quickly as regular ones.

I'm akimbo on my bed without even the energy to shed my Ghostbusters jumpsuit, while Dave is hopping around my room like a bird and investigating things. He is on an unmitigated sugar high and can't seem to shut up about all the new kinds of candy he's been given.

"Dave," I groan. "Please shut up."

"Damn, John. Did I ever tell you how much I _love _Skittles?"

"Only like thirty times. Now, _pleeease_."

I swear if he says "taste the rainbow" one more time, I am going to puke on him. But instead of speaking in food trademarks, he comes over and sits down next to me. "Let's trade candy, what do you have?"

"Excuse me," comes the voice of Dirk. He's sitting on my swivel chair pompously and is only slightly less sugar high than Dave. "No one asked me to barter..."

"Dude, Bro, you'll get your chance, man..." Dave is bouncing irritatingly so I hand over my pillow case.

"Here, please share. I don't want to be the referee anymore."

Dave erupts in a speedy recital of candy brands, and I bury my head under my pillow. Do you want to know what's worse than having one Bogeyman living in your closet? Having _two _Bogeymen living in your closet. _Especially _on Halloween. Because Halloween, as I'm informed by Dave and Dirk, is basically when all the unkillable super monsters and denizens of hell get to roam amongst mortals and act like total assholes.

So it's basically Strider family tradition to go out once a year, act like assholes, and score free candy. It's just my rite of passage to be the one who gets to mediate the arguments and endless fight over every fucking Twix bar and Caramel Cream. And when Dirk got that bag of pretzels I thought he'd _never _shut up. Talk about drama.

Right now though, the cadence of their endless, ironic chattering is comforting, like a lullaby. And I'm glad Dave has someone to talk to now. I'm about to fall asleep to the sound of them talking when the door clicks open. I sit up as they disappear, frightened off by my Dad, who's standing there in his Michael Meyers mask and obviously feeling better, since he just spent all night chasing kids down the street.

"Hey, Dad," I say. He doesn't respond. I guess he's trying to scare me, but he should probably know by now that his pranks really cut no ice with me.

"Did you give out a lot of candy?" I continue, but this is apparently going to be a one sided conversation. He's still weird as ever, but at least he's feeling better.

"Daaaad." If I'm hoping for a heart to heart, father son conversation, I'm shit out of luck. "Whatever."

I yawn, rolling over on my bed and tugging the blanket up to my chest. I hear the light switch flick off and the door close, and then these two little voices come back.

"Hey, who turned out the lights?"

"Not cool."

Click again, and they're back on. I sit up in bed, running my hands through my hair. I'm almost at the point where I'm just going to scream at both of them and put them in timeout, but I know I can't lose my head with Dad and Jane waiting for me to scream at more "nonexistent" people. The door knocks again, opens, and my Dad is standing there, sans Michael mask.

"Hey, champ."

"Hey." I wonder how tiring it gets disappearing like that all the time.

"You didn't happen to see any strange men in here, did you?" He raises an eyebrow, and I think of Dave and Dirk.

"Yeah, but he seemed pretty busy. I think he might've been Jane's date..."

Dad nods in response to this, like it all makes perfect sense. I consider whether or not Dad even thinks about his miraculous recovery. I wonder if he finds anything suspicious about it, but then again, who would? He walks over and sits down next to me on my bed. "It's too bad what happened to your cousin."

"Yeah," I respond, staring at the floor and feeling guilty. "Crazy."

"I'll say. I'm having someone come in to check the stairs next week. Be careful on them, ok?"

I just nod.

"You still think there's a monster in your closet?" he asks with a smirk, and I shake my head quickly.

"No," I say, forcing a laugh as my face flushes. "That was stupid."

My Dad laughs loudly, ruffling my hair as he stands up. "Well, kiddo, you're gonna do a lot of stupid things. It's just part of life. 'Night, son."

"Goodnight, Dad."

Right as he was about to leave, the closet door opened, and something fell out. Actually, not some_thing_, some_one_, Dave. At first, I don't know how to react, and Dad is just standing there, stunned. Dave obviously can't die, but is there something wrong with him? I'm immediately suspicious of Dirk and still trying to think of a way to explain things to Dad, when he suddenly bursts into laughter.

"You got me!" he exclaims, sounding delighted that I was able to pull off such a great prank. And I guess in regular circumstances, I would be too, except for in this circumstance my boyfriend is unconscious on the floor and possibly injured. "Wow, that's a good one... What's the matter, John?"

"I..." I stammer, trying to decide when would be a good time to run over and see if Dave's ok. "I was actually saving that one for Jane..."

"Oh, don't worry," he says with a smile. "I won't tell her."

"Thanks, Dad," I manage.

He closes the door, and I bolt over to Dave, jostling him. He doesn't move at all, but he's still breathing, so I hook my arms under his and drag him to my bed. Dave's not a very heavy person despite his height, so he's easy to get up there. I brush his hair out of his face and take his sunglasses off. His expression is surprisingly peaceful, like he doesn't even realize he just fell out of a closet and hit his head on the floor.

I glance over my shoulder and see Dirk standing there, arms crossed thoughtfully. "Did you do something to him?" I demand, trying to keep my voice as quiet as I can.

"Ow, I'm hurt," he responds sarcastically, approaching me slowly so he can stand over his brother. "I think it's fatigue. The effects of the curse are wearing off."

"So it's my fault?" I'm aware of the fact that I'm getting just a _little _defensive right now.

"Never said that," Dirk mumbles.

I stare down at Dave, sleeping on my bed. He's breathing quietly and practically smiling, so I feel guilty about wanting to wake him up. After all, it's my own dumb fault he fell asleep in the first place, and he must be tired with all the changes he's going through. I guess I can be content with just standing there, stroking him and watching him sleep, as creepy and weird as that sounds.

"This would probably be a perfect time to go see Jake," says Dirk, interrupting my thoughts. He sounds sort of pissed, maybe like he's overprotective or something, funny coming from a guy that tried to kill his brother.

"I don't think so," I respond flippantly to ward off the weirdly hypocritical hostility. "I won't be there to watch you. You'll probably get me in trouble."

"You can come," he says like he's offering.

"My Dad would see me leave."

"Before I inquire, I'll offer my condolences apropos to your _accident, _but, dude, seriously, what happened to the other half of your brain?"

"What?"

"I wanna show you something."

I look at him for a while and he doesn't move, doesn't motion at anything. He's just kind of looking at me with that triangular stare and it's kind of intense even though I can't see his eyes. Then all of a sudden the room feels like it's spinning and I feel like I'm being tossed around and flipped upside down. Before I have time to panic, it's over, and I'm laying on something soft.

My eyes are starting to adjust to this kind of weird, pink colored soft stuff I'm on and there's a dark sky and a lot of twinkling lights that are just too bright and artificial to be stars. Besides, they're all kinds of colors, not just white. My whole body feels like it's been knocked out of place, like it's unstable, and after the ringing in my ears subsides, I realize that Dirk is talking to me.

"What?" I ask him. He's looking down at me.

"Are you gonna hurl?"

I shake my head, but I don't know yet if I lied or not. "What just happened?" I manage to ask.

"In short, I teleported you. And I'm not about to get into the sicknasty science behind it, because you're an idiot."

"To where?"

"To _here._"

"Where's _here?_"

"It doesn't have a name. It's just _here._"

You would probably think that being _Here _is a dream come true for me, but it's not. Even though it sort of reminds me of the set from _Little Monsters_, it's deserted and the only scenery would be this pink ground, black Christmas lights sky, and towering structures that just look like dull teeth growing out of the ground. I stop to wonder if I'm dreaming, because despite everything I've been through in the past month, this is just a little _too _surreal. This is where things have finally crossed the line.

There's no noise Here, not one other living thing besides me and Dirk. And everything smells like dust. It feels like being trapped between the pages of a badly written bedtime story, and not even a tasteful one. Just something crappy and ill thought out, oh and I should probably mention it would give your children nightmares to boot. While I'm trying to absorb everything that's happening, Dirk joins me on the ground and starts pulling it out in chunks.

"What are you doing?" I ask him. Now I know I'm dreaming.

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing? I'm eating."

"_Grass?_"

"It's cotton candy, dumbass. Here, try some."

He shoves a handful in my face, and my initial reaction is to push him away of course. Then I reluctantly eat it. And he's right.

"So what is this place, like, monster Limbo?"

"If that's what you want to call it. It's just the _other _place you can go. But it's different for everyone, sort of like being inside of someone's dreams, if that makes sense. More accurately, astral projection."

So this is Dirk's world. I get the feeling that he's pretty lonely, since this place is barren and just sad looking, although I can't really blame him. When you think about it, you would be lonely too, if you were cursed for eternity, or however long. I wonder what Dave's dream place is like.

"Do you have to come here every time you teleport?"

"Briefly, for less than a second—it's just a medium. But for you, I didn't want to go straight through. I thought you would appreciate a breather, and besides, I couldn't have you pitching a fit at the hospital. You'd probably get me in trouble."

"Thanks," I respond with a smirk. I decide I like Dirk. He's sort of like Dave, only not as cute, and not as dramatic.

"So, are you ready?"

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

You wouldn't expect teleporting to hurt but it totally does. I mean, maybe not for Dirk since he's used to doing it or whatever, but for me, it really hurts. I'm sick again on the floor of Jake's hospital room, trying not to puke while Dirk is already at his bedside, ogling him and who knows what else. I struggle to my feet, deciding I'll just walk home.

"He's asleep," Dirk says quietly, leaning in so close to Jake's face that they're almost touching. Little does he know that this is the guy that has punched me, unsuspectingly, too many times to count. He probably wouldn't care even if he did know.

"I think I'll go home before he wakes up... If my Dad finds out I'm gone he'll be really mad."

"What? I thought you didn't want to leave me alone..."

"Yeah, well... I think I can trust you."

I rub my arm nervously, realizing I left my cellphone in my bedroom. If Dad finds it, he'll think I've been kidnapped or something. With my luck, he'll call the police and they'll show up at my house and arrest me for playing pranks. Besides, there's no doubt that Jake will tell my Dad I was here, and on top of that, I don't even have a visitor's pass. Before Dirk can stop me, I mumble the words, "Have fun" and bolt out the door.

Once I'm out in the hallway, I sneak around, careful to avoid the hospital staff. Maybe Dirk was right – I should've just stayed with him. I really don't even think visitors were allowed at that time of day, and Dirk would've been able to hide me. In fact, Dirk would've been able to teleport me home, and I could be snuggled up in my bed right now... Only Dave's in it. But that makes it even better, I guess.

Out in the parking lot, I feel a little bit better, only I'm freezing, and all I have on is my stupid Ghostbusters costume. Did I say stupid? I definitely meant awesome. Anyway, I probably would've been fine. Except there's this black car, driving really slow, about fifty feet behind me. I'm not sure if I should stop or run or hide in the bushes or something. I could try climbing a tree, but it probably wouldn't end well.

No, I'm just being crazy. Seriously. It's Halloween, after all. At worst, it's some harmless prank. Granted, it's pretty hard to pull one over on me, so what am I worried about, right? Right. It's obviously all in my head. Well, that's what I try to tell myself until I turn around and see someone right behind me. My knees suddenly give out and the air I breathe in chokes me. I try to piece together what's going on, but my consciousness is fading away. The last thing I see is an almost familiar face.


	9. Jailbreak

"Hi, cutie."

My eyes open. I'm wrapped in a blanket and sitting on a couch, in what looks like a hotel room. The girl sitting in front of me, smirking, drinking a martini, is the one I saw before I died out on the sidewalk. Well, I thought I died. Guess not. Now that my brain is functioning (kind of), I can instantly place why she was familiar. She looks almost just like the psychic, Rose Lalonde, only slightly different.

"Who are you?" I ask quietly, and she laughs, snorting.

"Who do you think I am?" Her speech is slurred pretty badly and she looks like she's about to pass out any minute now.

"Um... I don't know?"

"Here, drink this. It'll make everything all right again..."

"No, thanks..."

She smiles, sloshing her drink out onto the couch, and trying to drink it only to realize she's spilled it all. Then she starts laughing. I'm sort of failing to understand what's going on here – did I really get kidnapped by a drunk girl? I'm about to start asking questions, which probably would've been pointless, when I hear a voice, not very unlike the one I'm already talking to.

"Roxy, leave him alone. He's my guest, so if you please..." I glance up to see Rose, standing behind me in her black lipstick and some gothic prom dress looking thing. She smiles at me pleasantly, if not a little mischievously, and slowly crosses around to stand in front of the couch. "Long time, no see. How have you been, John?"

I kind of just stare at her. I'm unsure of how to change my opinion towards her, but it obviously needs to be changed because of this little incident. I try to keep calm, stay cool, channel my inner ironic prowess, but I end up shouting, "Why did you kidnap me?" I guess I don't really have an inner ironic prowess.

"_Kidnap _you? No, John, you have the wrong idea. Roxy and I rescued you." She jerks her thumb disdainfully at the lady on the couch next to me. I assume they're sisters or twins by their identical looks.

"From what?" I ask, a little bit dumbstruck.

"From the man that was harassing you. You know, the one that followed you out of the hospital. We took care of him."

"What? There was someone following me?"

"Yes, the cursed one. The _other _cursed one. The one that tries to kill you."

"_Dirk?_"

I jump up and scream, which could _probably_ be viewed as an overreaction, but things have just gotten very bad. I don't really regret it, but if Dave finds out I brought some overbearing psychic into my house to help me get rid of my paranormal problems, he might hate me. Especially if that psychic has done something to his brother.

"What's wrong?" asks Rose, looking genuinely surprised.

"Where is Dirk?" I try to ask this calmly, but once again, I fail at remaining calm in this situation.

"Don't worry, John. You're safe. He's locked away in an invention of mine, the Compression Chamber," she begins, smirking. "It's quite ingenious, if I do say so myself. It restricts and eliminates the supernatural properties of anything locked inside of it. I must admit that my lovely associate did most of the legwork. I'm not much of a scientist."

Roxy grins. "Thank you, Rosey!" she squeals in my ear, garnering a cold glare from Rose.

"Not _you_," she responds bitterly.

"Rose, ok," I begin, trying as hard as I can not to be frantic, "I'm not mad at you—you didn't know. But Dirk and me are cool now, and it's really important—"

"Dirk and _I_," she interrupts, impatiently examining her long, black fingernails.

"Dirk and _I. _Now it's really important that you let him out of that chamber or whatever! I don't want him getting hurt!"

"...I find him rather hostile."

I feel helpless by her objective attitude in this case. "Duh, he's going to be hostile!" I exclaim, surprising her. "I would be hostile too if someone grabbed me off the street and stuffed me in a test tube or whatever! Just let him out, ok?"

She turns her nose up daintily, and I can tell I've struck a nerve with her. I feel bad, but maybe it's a good thing. "As you wish. Roxy, we will return to the lab."

"Aye aye, Cap'n," she mumbles in response. "Does Cutie need another hit of fairy dust?"

"That won't be necessary," Rose says for me. Roxy winks at me, and I follow the two girls out the door.

As I expected, we're standing outside in a hotel hallway, a very quiet one, which makes me assume it's extremely early in the morning. My thoughts start drifting to Dave, and I wonder if he's awake. I don't want him to worry about me, and I don't want Dad to worry about me either, or Jane. I should've never let Dirk convince me into sneaking to the hospital, and I shouldn't have left him alone either. Because he _did _get me into trouble.

Roxy and Rose really do get a lot of looks for the way they dress, Rose particularly, since Roxy almost makes the black lipstick normal with her typical skirt, boots, and jacket. Rose is in all black, a fanciful dress, and a coat with a thousand buckles on it. Oh, and me in a Ghostbusters suit doesn't really help our party to appear any more normal. I kind of forgot about that.

When we reach the parking lot, I can pick out the black sedan because it's the one that had been following me. Roxy offers me the passenger's side and crawls in the back, stretching across the seats. I get in as Rose is starting the car and backing out of the parking lot. I don't know how old she is, but I hope she's a capable driver. I'm not even going to inquire about her age. She's probably a thousand year old witch or something, stuck in a teenaged girl's body. And the thing is, I wouldn't even be _surprised _by that at this point.

We quickly get out of the city with minimal traffic and start driving along all these unmarked roads. It kind of reminds me of where Dave took me on our date, which makes me start worrying about him all over again. Hopefully he's still asleep and unaware that I'm even missing. For a while there's no scenery besides fields and trees, until we get into some neighborhood. It's still dark, but I can make out tall, colonial style houses. It's old fashioned in sort of a disturbing way.

It takes probably a half hour to reach a narrow, heavily forested road that Rose takes. We pull up to a big building that looks more like a deserted warehouse than anything else, and she parks the car. "This is the lab," she informs me, and I step outside.

"I thought you were from New York," I comment. Roxy doesn't move from the backseat, and I realize she's asleep when I glance in the window.

"I've established a temporary laboratory here. I thought you may be needing my assistance," she responds nonchalantly, like it's no big deal that she just basically admitted to stalking me.

Stalking regardless, I follow her into the lab, and the first thing I feel is a pain in my back.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

I'm on the floor of Rose's lab, staring up at a woman wielding a chainsaw, and the first thing I notice about her is fangs. What the hell. At this point in my life, I have to say, I never expected I would end up here. I have a boyfriend with a curse, a boyfriend with a cursed brother who has gotten kidnapped by a psychic goth girl, and now a chainsaw-toting vampire is about to decapitate me. And normally, in said circumstances, I would say, "go ahead," but the only difference now is I have someone to live for. And that person happens to particularly need me, a lot, or he'll be cursed forever.

Before I can even scramble away, Rose steps in. "Kanaya, what are you doing?" she exclaims, and the woman lowers her chainsaw.

"M-Miss Lalonde? My apologies..." The roaring stops, and she gently sets it down in front of her feet. "It's just that shortly after you left, there was an incident..."

"Kanaya, please, no need to be so formal," replies Rose with a smirk. "This is John. He's a client."

"Hi," I say awkwardly from the floor, and she offers me her hand. I shake it, and she shoots me a questioning look. It's not until after I let go that I realize she was trying to help me up.

"Kanaya Maryam. If you don't mind me asking, why did you bring him here?"

"He's here to retrieve the cursed man. It seems I was mistaken in capturing him."

Kanaya pauses as a sudden look of panic overcomes her unnaturally pale face. "He's... gone," she says at length, breaking into spontaneous tears. "I'm sorry, Miss Rose. This man came in bent on wreaking havoc in the lab and released him. I don't even know how he figured out the permutation."

Rose steps forward to embrace the other girl, and I feel suddenly awkward. "Kanaya, please, no need for tears. You did everything you could. I'm just glad you're not hurt. We'll just have to program some additional security functions for the Compression Chamber."

"I don't mean to step in here, but uh, where's Dirk?"

Kanaya looks at me and shrugs, tugging a strand of her light brown hair. "A man in pajamas came in here, destroyed a good portion of the lab equipment, and opened the Compression Chamber. Your Dirk willingly accompanied him."

"Pajamas?" I guess I could understand why Dirk would go with him, since he was busting him out. "Is there anything else?"

"He seemed to have some kind of injury," she responds, narrowing her eyes. "And suspiciously, he looked very much like you. He made a point of telling me his name—English."

She starts weeping again, and I can't believe what's actually happening. Jake is crazy, but I couldn't even begin to fathom why—or _how—_he would've done something like this. First of all, he would've had to escape the hospital, and then, either hitch a ride or steal a car. Then he would've had to get past chainsaw vampire lady, open that chamber, and break a bunch of shit, all with his broken ankle. I would say he couldn't have gone far, but Dirk could take him anywhere he wanted, so there's no telling where they could be now. I want to scream in frustration, but at least Dirk's safe, and the mystery is (mostly) solved. Now I just want to go home and get some sleep.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Dawn is breaking when Rose drops me off in front of my house. The minute I step out she speeds away, so I guess I'm taking the rap for Jake's shenanigans. I drag my feet up to the front door, but before I can even knock, Jane opens it, and she doesn't look happy. I just sigh. I wish I was grown up so I didn't have to explain my actions to her and Dad. Doesn't Jane remember what it was like to be my age? It was only a couple years ago, after all...

"You're in big trouble, mister," she snaps, opening the door a little wider. I fight the urge to bolt, because running away _again _will just create more problems. I walk in and let her shut the door behind me. My Dad is sitting at the kitchen table, drumming his fingers impatiently.

"I'm disappointed in you, John," he begins. "What have I taught you about faking your own death? If there's no body, you won't be convincing anyone."

"Dad!" Jane hisses, and I crack a smile.

"Oh, Janey, lighten up." Dad swigs his coffee and walks over to clap me on the back. "He's in one piece, isn't he?"

Jane turns red, and while I'm thankful for Dad's leniency, I can see why she's so angry. Dad wouldn't let Jane leave the house without him until she was seventeen, regardless of what time it was. I guess it's a first born kind of thing, or maybe just a daughter thing. Either way, I'm sort of thankful I'm younger. The phone rings, and Jane picks it up, so I take that opportunity to escape. When I hear her nearly shriek, "He _what?_" I can guess what that phone call was about.

I open my bedroom door. "Dave?" I call, but I don't see him. I strip off my costume in favor of a t-shirt, and it's nice to finally be out of that thing. I'm going to play hooky today since basically everything that could've gone wrong _did _go wrong, and I haven't slept all night. I sit on my bed for a few minutes, waiting for Dave to show up. When he doesn't, I don't get too worried, because he's done this before. I slide under the blankets and almost fall asleep, until I hear a faint banging sound from inside my closet.

I smile and throw off the blankets, marching over to the door. "Haha," I say, rather than laugh. "Very funny, Dave. But you can't scare me, I'm the—"

I pull the door open and yelp when Dave falls out onto me. He almost knocks me down, and I would suspect that he was trying to prank me, but he's shaking and sweaty and cold. "Dave!" I gasp, helping him over to my bed.

"John," he groans. I note that he looks a little more colorful, his hair at least, is blonder, instead of just white. "I can't do it anymore..."

"Can't do what?" I ask, laying him down on my bed as I pull off his sneakers.

"Teleport. I couldn't get out of the medium... I thought I never would."

The medium is the place Dirk took me to. "Don't go back," I tell him, pulling the sheets over him. He looks pale and sick, but I'm sort of happy. Because this means that Dave's a step closer to being human.

"I don't know if I could..."

Then another thought crosses my mind—Dirk could be stuck too. And Jake could be stuck with him. I can't think of a way to contact him and warn him. "Dave," I begin, getting in bed with him. "What about Dirk? Can you tell him?"

"I've been working on it," he says, his voice hoarse, "but I'm not getting any messages back. My telepathy has always been strongest with him... I mean, even when I _wasn't _cursed, it was easy. Just not as clear... It's not very clear, now..."

I have no idea what he's talking about, but I just pet his hair softly. His jaw is clenched, and I can tell he's concentrating, but I'd rather just have him sleep. "I don't think there's much more you can do, if you're not receiving messages, or whatever," I tell him, kissing his forehead.

"I think you're right, Egbert," he responds. "Maybe I'll dream..."

He's out like a light in the next couple seconds. And try as I may to fall back asleep, I'm just lying in bed awake.


	10. Secrets

To recap, my life is difficult, to say the least. In every movie you've ever seen, something happens in the beginning that shakes up the protagonist's world. Something happens to him or her that drastically alters the path of their life and more often than not, turns everything upside-down. That's just good screen writing, otherwise, you have no movie. There's no plot. No interest.

And in fact, you can apply this to any interesting thing that has ever happened to you. Any huge change made in your life, you can probably go back on your personal timeline and pinpoint exactly what the thing was that caused that change. For me, it would be meeting Dave Strider, the Bogeyman, obviously. Now I've met all kinds of, ahem, interesting people. I've had a couple relatives in the hospital. I'm probably next. A few near-death experiences, as I've mentioned before. And now, to top it all off, I'm failing school.

Maybe a lot of you are saying, "So what? I failed school." Fine. Try going to school most days with bruises and dark circles under your eyes and sleeping through all your classes. Yeah, it's definitely going to look like something is wrong, like something is going on at home. The problem is, _nothing _is going on at home, nothing that my parent actually _knows _about anyway. In fact, it's more about what's going on when I'm _not_ at home. When I'm being targeted by Bogeymen and crazy science-psychics and vampires, and well, yeah, you get the point.

So when my guidance counselor pulls me into his office and asks me what's going on at home, what am I supposed to say? He's tapping his pen impatiently on his desk while he waits for an answer, an answer aside from "Nothing," and I'm just staring at this picture he has, a picture of him and a girl that I assume is his girlfriend or wife or something. She's grinning while he kisses her cheek.

"Look," he begins again, just tapping that stupid pen in that passive aggressive way, "you can tell me. I don't want to have to call CPS on this."

"Yeah, well, there's nothing going on at home, ok? Except for maybe when my cousin and me mess around..." I've run out of things to stare at besides him, so I just look at his name plaque and wonder how to pronounce it. _Karkat Vantas. _Totally weird. He's probably an alien.

"Then what's with the..." he gestures with his pen in a circular motion, one that I guess is supposed to reference my face, "sleeplessness?"

"I just have trouble falling asleep at night," I answer. "I like to stay up late."

He frowns angrily, scribbling something down on a notepad. Maybe if I act all fired up about this, he'll just think I'm some delinquent and send me to the YMCA for a year and half. But he just shakes his head at me. "Just... be here every Thursday. This time."

"Are you gonna call my Dad?" I ask, and he launches the pen in a frenzy of clicking it over and _over. _Talk about your nervous habits.

"Not unless I see fit. Now go away."

"Sheesh."

I grab my backpack and leave his office, closing the door behind me. I decided to go to school after all, since I couldn't sleep. It's been the longest day of my life, and it's only 3:15. But I guess I should count some of last night, or the fact that I've basically been up since the day technically began, at midnight. It's all really confusing.

What's even _more _confusing is the whereabouts of Jake, my cousin, and Dirk. Since the kidnapping ordeal last night, Jake has been missing from the hospital. Jane's declaring a state of emergency in our household and Dad is blowing it off like it's nothing and leaving for a five day business trip. But hey, this is my life now—complete fucking chaos. When I get home from school, Dad is already gone, and so is Jane, probably out with a search party.

I fish the key out of pocket only for the door to swing open, and I see Dave standing there, looking tousled and exhausted but nevertheless adorable. "What are you doing?" I demand, slamming the door behind him. "You can't open the door, Dave. You have to stay upstairs."

"But no one's home," he almost whines, and I can guess that he's bored. After all, he's used to being wherever he wants to be in the blink of an eye. I don't know how his ghost car privileges work now, but sitting at home with nothing to do can't be fun. "And I miss you."

"I was gone for seven hours," I say, walking into the kitchen to inspect the refrigerator. Usually Jane leaves a note, but it looks like it slipped her mind today.

Dave is standing there, staring at me expectantly. "What?"

"Um... I think I'm hungry."

"...You think?"

"Yeah, well, I never really got hungry anymore. You know, superhuman and all that shit."

"Right."

I open the freezer and grab some pizza rolls to throw in the microwave, since I'm not really that much of a cook, and Dave just gathers around, enthralled. I start pacing around the kitchen, my head throbbing as I consider all the possibilities of what could've happened to Dirk and Jake, and I flinch when I feel Dave grab me from behind. "Dude, stop worrying. I'm not even worried."

"But, you don't know what happened to them," I say, frowning as I turn myself around in his grip. "What if Dirk and Jake are already in love? What if Dirk can die now, or what if they got trapped, or if they're just lost somewhere? Can you even do any magic things anymore?"

"This," he responds, leaning forward and kissing me passionately. It's a cheesy line, but hey, cheesy lines work for Dave. What can I say? When he pulls away I can't say that I'm feeling much better, but he hugs me. "If I'm not worried, then you shouldn't be."

I wriggle out of his grip, slightly embarrassed, and walk back to the microwave. "Here," I say, handing him the plate. Instead of taking the whole plate, he grabs one and sticks it in his mouth, then immediately spits it back out.

"What?" I ask. "You don't like it?"

"It's hot," he responds, and I try to hold back a chuckle as I glance at the exploded pizza roll on the floor.

"Well, duh." I set the plate down on the table and go grab a napkin so I can clean his mess up. "Just wait a couple minutes."

"I'm hungry _now._"

"Eat your candy."

"I already did..."

"_All _of it?"

"...I haven't been hungry for like, 200 years, dude."

I wonder which it is, a thousand or two hundred, when Dave sits down at the table and starts to cautiously eat the food. I set down next to him and pop one in my mouth, causing him to tear the plate away and hide it behind his arm. "It's mine, fatass."

"Fine!" I respond, rolling my eyes. Who knew anyone could get so protective of pizza rolls. "Dave, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," he says, his sunglasses focused on the table.

"How old were you when you got cursed?"

"Sixteen," he answers immediately, and I'm surprised he hasn't forgotten. But then again, how do you forget something like that?

"So is that how old you are now that you're human again?"

"It would appear so," he responds with a hint of a chuckle. "Come to think of it, I don't even remember feeling any older. Or looking any older."

"Makes sense," I agree. "Did you know how to break the curse?"

"Yeah. But I couldn't tell you. That's part of the rules."

"So is that what you were planning all along? To just find someone to fall in love with?"

"No, no, John... It's not like that. I needed somewhere to hide, from Dirk. You know, he was pissed at me. And then I met you... You were so different from anyone. I mean, anyone I've ever met. And I have met other humans before, even when I was like this. Lots of them. They were all scared of me. Dirk knew I loved you. That's why he wanted to kill you. To punish me."

"I still don't get it," I respond. "You keep saying Dirk wanted to punish you, but why? And why did he just stop trying to kill me?"

He takes a deep breath. "I killed our sister. The girl who cursed us—she's a witch. And I guess he stopped because she's alive now, and probably a lot of it had to do with your cousin."

"What do you mean, she's alive _now?_"

"Reborn, my friend. Witches can do that. You know that psychic girl you've been talkin' to? I'll clue you in, she's not really psychic. There's a reason she knows so much."

"She's your sister."

"Bingo. Congrats, Johnny boy. You solved the big mystery."

"But why didn't you just tell me all that in the first place?"

For once, Dave has nothing to say to this. He just turns his head, obviously averting his gaze from me, and shrugs ever so slightly. I can see his hand shaking, which he tries to cover up by tapping his fingers on the table. I reach out and grab his hand, but it's still cold as ice. That gets his attention, and he finally just blurts out, "I didn't want to fuck things up with you. I didn't want you to hate me."

"Dave, no matter what you do, I'll never hate you. You should know that by now."

He seems surprised by that answer. Then I hear the door open. For some reason, I expect it to be Jake and get up, but to my horror, I just see Jane standing there, looking angry. "He's going to have to be in the hospital for another two weeks now!"

"Y-you found him?" I ask in surprise, stumbling backwards into the kitchen to see Dave, crouching under the table, shaking his head slightly and shrugging. I suppress my laughter and tug him out.

"He was with some guy he says is friends with you... John? Where'd you go?"

"I'm in the kitchen!" I respond, while Dave struggles with me. "It's ok," I whisper to him reassuringly, and he finally comes out, nearly bumping his head on the table.

"Oh..." She comes in and looks surprised when she sees Dave standing there. "Um, hi. John, who's this?"

"Dave. My friend from school. He's gonna spend the night, ok?"

"Sup." Dave looks calm and collected, even though he's not even wearing shoes, and meanwhile I'm getting sweaty over the prospect of Jane finding out he's been living in my closet, or worse, that he's my boyfriend.

"It's... Jane. How do you do?" She reaches her hand out to shake Dave's, and he high fives her instead. I try not to laugh. "...Well, I'll be making dinner, so you should probably go find something else to do."

Dave is already heading out, but I wait. "Hey, Jane. Do you know where the guy Jake was with went?"

"He just said he was going home," she responds, opening the refrigerator.

I just nod and wonder where that could be, because Dirk doesn't have a home.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"Yeah, he does actually."

"What? Where?"

"Some place in France. Haunted house, you know the drill. Someone moves in, play nasty tricks on them 'til they leave. Break dishes, kill a dog... Just fuck shit up, you know?"

Dave plucks several bags of candy from the shelf, since it's all on sale after Halloween. We decided to walk to the drugstore a little way from my house, because he was out of candy. " 'Course, I don't think he'll be able to get back to France too easily, so who knows... You know, this stuff's harder to eat when you have an actual appetite."

"So if he can't go back to France then where do you think he is?"

"Camped out at the hospital would be my guess. Probably hiding under Jake's bed, just creepin'."

"Are you ok with it? You know, being human again and everything."

"I have you. Why wouldn't I be?"

I smile up at him as he links our arms. I know not everything in life can be perfect. School sucks, I hate where I live now, and I have basically no friends. I know my life is _far _from perfect—I'm a teenager with a previously cursed boyfriend, not a five year old who believes in fairytales. But even if you're unlucky enough to hate your life, hopefully you'll find something to help you fill in the gaps. For me, that thing is Dave.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

**a/n: **that's it. admittedly, i'm actually glad to be done writing this. because of all the good feedback i've gotten from this fic, i'm considering writing a dirkjake-centric sequel in the future, so let me know what you guys think of that idea. also i plan on releasing another davejohn fic sometime very soon. make sure you subscribe! before i go i want to tell you guys i love hearing all your encouraging words. thank you, you're all lovely.


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